


Struggle

by impassiveimp



Series: For better or worse [2]
Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: All other survivors will likely be in this fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2019-11-14 05:29:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18046382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impassiveimp/pseuds/impassiveimp
Summary: Quentin didn’t used to feel like this.





	1. Chapter 1

There were moments when Quentin regretted getting himself stuck in this purgatory. Very little happened in the Entity's realm that didn't pertain to trials, which left him with too much time to think about what his life had been before getting yanked out of his dimension. He wondered if Nancy was alright. He wondered if his dad was looking for him. He wondered if Freddy could even be killed permanently. 

Thinking was a speciality of his. He'd had ADD for as long as he could remember and so his mind raced with dozens of thoughts, unable to ever really turn off or focus on one idea in particular for longer than an hour. Meds would have come in handy with balancing out his mood swings or his bouts of sensory overload, but unfortunately none existed here outside of the odd health packs that could be scavenged. 

Quentin had a knack for finding those kits and he always searched through them with a sliver of hope that there'd be anything different inside. There never was.

The only upside to his hyperactive brain would have to be that it made sleeping more difficult. He wasn’t sure if Freddy could still enter his dreams outside of trials and wasn't keen on finding out. It was definitely unhealthy for him to go days without rest but it wasn't like it mattered in a place like this where even death didn't stick. The worst that could happen would be that he died during a trial and then got forcibly yanked back to the land of the living.

Nancy would of told him he was being ridiculous, he thinks. 

Or maybe she wouldn't. There was a lot about Nancy he realized now he didn't know, outside of the fact that they had a shared childhood trauma and subsequent shared adult trauma. Perhaps Nancy wouldn't have said a thing if she knew of his insomnia, and simply let him be.

Quentin didn't like that idea but there was no way to say for sure what the pretty girl thought. He wished more than often that he'd had more time to actually get to know her past the frantic mania to stay alive no matter what. 

One of his shoes was untied. Quentin sighed and hunched over to pick at the laces, half heartedly tying it into a bow. This was depression, right? His psychiatrist would say yes, but then again he would probably just want to put him on more medication to force more visits out of him. 

He missed being able to actually visit places, to have a choice in where he was going and what he was doing. Here there wasn’t free will, not really. The most anyone could do is choose, perhaps, if they genuinely wanted to suffer through another trial. A part of him knew that he shouldn’t be mentally complaining to himself, he made the choice, after all, to try and kill Freddy by himself. Of course, what other option had he had though?

When it came down to it, Nancy went missing after her mother was found dead and Quentin had no way of knowing whether he was the only one left alive after everything they’d been through. The police had searched for her, mainly due to the fact that she was the primary suspect in the homicide and less out of concern for her safety. Quentin had looked too. He’d kept an eye out for years, but with every month that passed without any sort of contact his hope for his friend had dwindled.

Maybe he would have moved on eventually and learned to cope with the rampant PTSD that haunted his dreams. Maybe. But then Freddy had found him again while he was attending college and ruined his chances of that normal life. What was he supposed to do other than desperately try to kill the dream demon by himself? It’s not like he hadn’t done the research, hadn’t tried to find every available reason for why Freddy had somehow still lived and been able to take revenge. 

“Quentin, you with us?” Meg’s voice broke through his thoughts, as did the snap of her fingers before his face.

He flinched slightly but turned his attention away from introspection to gaze tiredly at the red head. She was concerned and showing it in her own way, face scrunched with worry. It was nice to have someone understand his situation a little more at least, given that he’d only had one person before and then they were gone. 

Dwight was behind the girl, nervously adjusting his glasses and tie over and over, a monotonous sort of motion that threatened to lull him to sleep. His eyes couldn’t focus on any one thing which didn’t bode well for his survivability, but it would be pointless to make the duo worry more about him. While it was considerate of them to look out for him during trials, the constant watchfulness tended to grate on his patience after a while, making him feel like he was being treated with special care. If anything, there were times that Quentin felt it was more his right to be on the other side, considering what he’d been through before his apparent immortality. 

“Yeah.” Quentin mumbled and then cleared his throat, resolving to speak a little clearer, “Yeah, you guys go ahead, m’ gonna split up.”

It was funny, if he had said that back home he and his friends would’ve immediately made a joke about Scooby Doo or something. That was another thing he missed; the list was endless. 

True to his word Quentin turned on heel and quietly headed away from the other survivors, avoiding any further conversation. It wasn’t that he disliked them, he just knew that he wasn’t going to be the best person to have around at the moment. The manners ingrained in him by his father stuck with him even in this purgatory, declaring that if he didn’t have anything nice to say, he shouldn’t say it at all. 

It never took long to find a generator, there was always one within a safe distance of another, spread out equally across the terrain. He was going to try his hand at one that was less hidden, but needed to be out of the way early on. That was a lesson he’d had to learn the hard way in the beginning— leaving the few generators left within a stones throw of each other never resulted in anything positive. 

Of course, the danger of working on something out in the open was that one would be spotted much quicker. He shouldn’t have been caught off guard that he could suddenly hear his heartbeat pounding in his ear, but he was, and with a surprised jerk he crossed the wrong wires and made the generator explode loudly. 

He automatically ducked behind a nearby rock and not a moment too soon, as a hatchet buried itself in the ground where he’d just been squatting. Shit— _shit_ , she definitely knew where he was, hiding was pointless. With a deep breath and a half assed prayer under his breath—he had long since found his faith in religion strained, but again old habits die hard— he took off running, sneakers kicking up dirt. Distance wouldn’t really matter when it came to the Huntress, but if he could get far enough there was a chance he could duck out of sight and then hopefully out of mind.

Back at home, in the real world, he hadn’t been much of a runner. Swimming was something that his dad had insisted wasn’t a “manly” sport and so, in his teenage rebellion, he had joined the swim team in middle school and continued on with it even through the little bit of college he’d completed. So, while his stamina was great, his legs were unused to all the running that infested every trial he was forced into and it never took long for them to burn. 

Compared to him, the Huntress was a machine; she never seemed to tire in using any of her limbs if her constant precise aim was anything to go by. If only he was in a situation where he needed to swim away from the giant woman, maybe then he’d stand a better chance.

Another hatchet whirled by his face, missing his body by centimeters. He suppressed the urge to yelp and instead willed his body to move faster, leaping up the metal stairs to the factory that was in the middle of the contained environment. He’d only been here a few times and knew that it was someone’s estate, though who specifically escaped his memory. The more irrational part of him despaired that he was going to be caught and placed upon a hook first again, that he should just give up and sign his death warrant. The other part was what made him breach the top of the stairs and duck down once he had scrambled inside the top of the building.

One breath, two, and then she was close enough that he could hear her breathing as well, heavy and ominous. Her loud footsteps thumped against the metal grating, allowing Quentin time to track her location which, in truth, only made his fear worse. She had inexplicably slowed, as if she knew he hadn’t kept running even though she hadn’t even come inside yet. He silently clapped a hand over his mouth and nose to muffle his breathing as she paced even closer, wishing beyond all hope that something, anything, would draw her away from his hiding spot.

And then, against all odds, a generator exploded in the distance and caused the Huntress to pause in her search. She mumbled under her breath in a foreign language, but Quentin could gauge enough by her tone and inflection that it had to have been a curse of some sort, and then her heavy footsteps were stomping away from him, back down the stairs. Quentin didn’t dare move until he couldn’t hear her feet on metal anymore, and even then he unfolded himself cautiously.

Sometimes the killers tried to trick the survivors into thinking they were gone—it had happened to him once before with the terrifying man that had a seemingly endless supply of bear traps and a smiling mask. Nonetheless the coast was clear enough for Quentin to stand and scurry quickly out the other door, glancing paranoidly behind him as he went in case the Huntress suddenly jumped out.

This was why he didn’t see the person in front of him, and in a second he was slamming head first into a sweaty, broad chest covered only by a thin tank top. The breath knocked out of him as he hurriedly grabbed onto the other to ensure he didn’t topple flat on his ass, and the first thought that invaded his mind was that he really wished the Entity prevented things like perspiration from happening so that his cheek wouldn’t be damp. The second thought, as calloused hands grabbed him around the upper arms to help steady him, was that _of course_ it was the brawler, because who else could it be with his luck?

When he gathered his bearings enough to look up, he met the narrowed eyes of one David King. Immediately he let go of the others shirt as though he’d been burned and David mirrored the action, both scowling fiercely at each other.

“Quentin.” David growled lowly, muscles tightening and flexing in his arms. And _fuck_ , what a time to notice that, huh?

Quentin didn’t even bother replying, choosing instead to brush past the brawler. If he had to talk to the other man they were liable to begin fighting again and that wouldn’t be good during a trial. Unfortunately, his attempts at being non confrontational were met with a bruising grip around his arm once more, halting his progress. His feet slipped briefly on the metal catwalk they were standing on and then he was looking back at the bigger man with undisguised anger.

“What do you want?” He spat, trying to jerk his arm free even though he knew it was a futile effort.

“What, don’t got nothin’ t’ say for your piss poor attitude last night?” David jeered, reeling him in.

What a fucking _douche_.

“Yeah, I don’t apologize for pointing out the obvious.” Quentin hissed, feeling very much in that moment like an offended cat being threatened by a large canine. He tried shoving at the bicep of the arm holding him in place for all the good it did him, frustrated that his leaner physique didn’t stand much of a chance. “Are we really gonna do this right now? Cause’ I recall us promising Claudette that we’d behave from now on.”

“Claudette ain’t here right now and your manners haven’t improved at all.”

“ _My_ manners?!” Quentin felt his indignant voice steadily rising in volume despite the dangers that would come of it, “ _You’re_ the one who needs to—”

“ _Me?!_ I outta—”

“Talking like you know me, like you know the kind of shit I’ve been through—”

“Oh, don’t act like you know what _real_ problems are—”

Their argument was cut short by a hatchet burying itself into Quentin’s spine. He staggered, feeling oddly weightless for a moment as David reflexively tried to steady him again, his expression transforming from fury to shock. Things were always confusing in those moments where the injuries suffered from their hunters were too overwhelming to even stand on two feet. His own brain tended to focus on the oddest things while his vision blurred dizzyingly, such as the fact that the shoelace he could have sworn he tied had come undone again.

His other foot tripped on the loose piece of cloth and then David’s grip on him loosened only because his body was lurching sideways, off balance and starting to catch up with the fact that a fucking miniature axe was jammed deep into the flesh of his back. And then he was falling over the edge of the catwalk, plummeting headfirst towards the ground. 

The last thing he saw was David reaching out towards him like he could somehow catch him even as the Huntress was steadily closing the gap between them, and then he landed harshly on the cold, unforgiving metal floor, neck snapping violently and his vision cutting to black.

***

The first time Quentin had opened his eyes to the Entity’s realm, he was in the deserted and decrepit lot of his old preschool. 

The building was still worn down and falling apart at the seams, abandoned ever since the tragedy that had befallen the children who attended it. It had taken him a while to even realize that he wasn’t still in his own world, and it had only been due to the fact that it finally clicked in his head that there were houses surrounding the parking lot of the building that shouldn’t be there. More specifically, there was a familiar house that looked suspiciously like Nancy’s parked across the road like it had always been there, even though Quentin knew with absolute certainty that it did not.

From there things became more apparent—there were no insects buzzing around in the night air, no distant sounds from the highway that should be near the school, and his cellphone that he’d had on his person was just plain gone. He could recall his final memories, of confronting Freddy after months of being tormented with no one to help him, and the logical conclusion had been that he had to be dreaming.

Then he’d run into one pissed off Jake Park, which really threw the dream theory out the door much to his panic.

Following this, even worse, Freddy had run into them. Or rather, he’d most definitely been following Quentin and waited for the most dramatic moment to reveal himself as he liked to do.

And then he’d been on the ground with Freddy’s face looming over his closely, too closely, hand caressing his face and eyes greedily looking at him with more than murderous intent. And Nancy was still gone. And he was still alone to deal with the dream demon. And he wasn’t strong enough to push the other man, even though by all means it should’ve been easy given his stature. 

And— _and_ —

He’d escaped. Barely. Only thanks to Jake sacrificing himself and Ace and Claudette hurriedly tugging him along, their wide eyed glances towards each other an unspoken conversation about their assumptions. He’d only known these three people for probably an hour and they’d learned bits and pieces of the most awful thing about him without his consent. They didn’t know the full picture, but enough was fed to them as Freddy had continued to pursue them, toying with them just so that he could taunt Quentin.

The only reason they made it out was because Claudette had found a key; even then Freddy had tried to snag his shirt and keep him marooned there with him, succeeding in shredding the fabric further. 

The second time Quentin opened his eyes he was in a forest that he didn’t know and could still feel the phantom hands of Krueger caressing his skin like he was—like he was Nancy. 

He’d promptly vomited into the shrubbery around him, though all that came out was bile since he hadn’t eaten anything substantial for so long. It was acidic and burned his throat something fierce, but even worse was the unstoppable onset of hotter tears that crawled down his cheeks. 

It was the first and only panic attack that he’d allowed himself since entering the Entity’s realm and it had knocked him to the ground, dirt and grass staining his clothes. He was wheezing uncontrollably when Claudette found him, body shaking and unable to even manage sitting up on his own. When she’d taken ahold of his arm he’d thought she was Freddy and lashed out at her with a terrified yelp, knocking her glasses clean off of her face.

She was understanding, of course, because that was who Claudette was and even if she had an idea of his past she would never know the full extent of it. So she pulled him up to a sitting position with pity in her body language, but not pity for the infuriating issue that was Freddy, but pity over him being stuck there with her and the others. Of being chosen to participate in the never ending game that the Entity forced them into.

When he’d finally caught his breath and his tears had dried up, the anger came back full force and he wished he’d socked Krueger right in the nose for thinking he could mess with him like that. There was no way that demon actually meant the things he said, it obviously had to be another mind fuck, another means to try and warp the way Quentin perceived the other into weakening his resolve. Well, fuck him. He hadn’t survived this long to roll over and let the man do whatever he damn well pleased.

Claudette escorted him to a large campfire where many more people surrounded the area, each with their own varying levels of curiosity over their new member. For a short time he had managed to cope with his new life and had made an effort to get along with the others even if he didn’t quite feel comfortable with them. That all changed when David fucking King kept being the most ill mannered and brash man Quentin had ever met outside of the obvious.

One thing led to another, Quentin got in David’s face about being an ass, and next thing he knew David had shoved him with the words that sealed the deal.

“What the fuck do you know about how bad people can get, huh? Bet you ain’t ever thrown a punch in your life, _pretty boy!_ ”

Quentin had promptly punched David in the mouth, cutting his fingers on his teeth in the process but splitting open his lip as well. He received a fist to the nose in retaliation, sending him reeling and causing blood to gush out of his nostrils like a faucet, but in that moment he felt...alive. He felt like he had some aspect of this situation that he could affect and change, even if the result was him getting his face smashed in.

The blood that pumped through his veins, making his heart throb and pulse jackrabbit heavily, was a feeling that had hadn’t experienced in so long—not even when he’d still been home. So much of his life, and subsequent purgatory, had followed a specific pattern that Quentin realized he’d grown used to in his adaptation to survival. There was never a fair balance of power in the sliding scale of his existence and he hadn’t been able to fight back with another on equal footing since high school. 

So it clicked in his head that as angry as he still felt and looked, he was also experiencing a surge of satisfaction for causing the bruise on King’s face and making him bleed. David stared right back at him with an equally vivacious expression of outrage, but there was a sliver of that pleasure in fighting back in his own stormy eyes as well. They were the only two that were, in some twisted way, happy about causing harm to each other while their fellow survivors hurriedly broke them up and vocalized their own frustration and worries.

Quentin didn’t blame them, if no one had stepped in he had no doubt that he and David would have kept swinging until one of them couldn’t get back up. As it was, he and David fought to stay within each other’s personal bubbles, and Quentin could still relish the need to mark up the other man bubbling underneath his skin.

He didn’t used to feel like this. 

***

King continued to be a thorn in his side.

If Quentin were to make a comparison, David was like a Rottweiler with a bone, unable to let go and big enough to throw his weight around. They had agreed to something of a shaky truce when Claudette had found the time to give them a very gentle but firm tongue lashing, making it clear that this sort of behavior wouldn’t fly, but that didn’t mean arguments ceased to exist.

It was commonplace after the first few instances for either one of them to say a choice word or phrase, just enough to goad the other into pausing whatever they were doing, and argue until they were blue in the face. Some of the others began to just let them hash it out as they realized there wasn’t any real damage occurring, but the rest, like Claudette, always kept a wary eye on the proceedings. 

When he wasn’t going toe to toe with the bigger man, he often found himself sitting around Feng Min of all people. He didn’t think that he would’ve been good friends with her if they weren’t stuck in this realm since her personality at times could be a little too abrasive and cold, but here she was a solid rock to lean against. 

“Did you always look like shit or is that a new thing?” Feng carelessly asked as she used needle and thread from a medkit to mend a hole in her shirt.

The first time she’d pulled it off in front of him, he’d felt his cheeks flush an embarrassing shade of scarlet. Since then he’d learned that she honestly didn’t care what anyone thought when she needed to patch herself up and that they could deal with seeing her purple sports bra in all its glory. His lips turned down into a frown, though it wasn’t anything serious.

“Sleep deprivation tends to do that.” He comments, and decides that he’s going to stack as many rocks as he can as some form of entertainment.

“Do you have, like, insomnia or something?”

Right, there was a good portion of the other survivors who hadn’t experienced a round with both he and Freddy yet. Quentin was thankful for that, since it gave him some breathing room for however long it lasted. 

“Sure.” He drew the r out obnoxiously, inwardly pleased at the way Feng rolled her eyes.

“ _Fine._ Keep your secrets, white boy.” She held her shirt up to poke at her amature patchwork, using the light from the campfire. “Good enough.”

With a dramatic sigh, she cut the end of the thread with her teeth, tying a knot and then slipping her shirt back on. The remaining thread and needle was placed carefully back into its respective kit, the need to save as much as they could ingrained within every survivor. Her gaze finally focused on him, laserlike in its intensity, though for Feng Min that was simply her norm. 

Quentin took his time stacking his fourth rock as she watched, blearily wondering what exactly his life had come to. 

“I’m torn.” Feng announced and then waited impatiently for Quentin to look up at her, nudging his leg with her foot when he didn’t do so fast enough. An imperious eyebrow was cocked in his direction, and he sighed, relinquishing his absolutely fascinating made up game. 

“What are you torn about?” He monotonously asked, finally giving in to what she wanted of him.

“I’m _torn_ ,” Feng emphasized by leaning forward, “about whether I want to knock your stack of rocks over or make a bigger one to show you up.”

“You’re a bully.” Quentin declared, giving up on the fifth rock after it nearly tumbled his sad stack over, “I’m serious, don’t laugh. This is definitely abuse, I’m being bullied and there’s no one here to stop you. You’re going mad with power.”

Feng Min’s laugh was simultaneously the worst and best thing anyone could ever experience. She tried to hide it behind her hand so that she could turn it into a girlish fake giggle, but the real thing was braying, loud, and involved the woman snorting ugly between breaths. Quentin cracked a smile after a moment, dropping the act and scattering the rock stack himself. He and his companion settled back against one of the logs surrounding the campfire, waiting, like always, for anything to happen.

The atmosphere around the area was more tense than it normally was thanks to Jake having just reappeared from his trial in an alarmingly short amount of time. Dwight had tried to talk to him, but both Quentin and Feng Min had curiously watched as the saboteur ignored all advances and placed himself away from the rest of their group. It was definitely rude to spy on the situation like they had, but Quentin couldn’t find it in himself to feel too guilty with how they were all stuck indefinitely with each other. 

As the flames crackled away at the stack of logs, a silence pervaded the campsite; it was heavy with negative energy as anyone stuck waiting imagined the worst. Jake, it looked like, had somehow fallen asleep even though no one actually needed rest anymore. Or food. Or water. 

“Do you think it was a new killer?” Feng murmured and leaned in closer to prevent her voice from carrying. Quentin peered over at the older man for a few more moments before shrugging. It wasn’t really his place to say and there were some things he didn’t like speculating on, such as other survivor’s trauma. Feng made a face at him. “You’re no fun.”

“If you want to go ask him, be my guest.” Quentin airily replied, tossing a few sticks into the large flames

“You kidding me?” Feng Min snorted and sat back, “The only person who can get that close to him is either Claudette or Ace.”

“Is he really that scary?” Quentin mumbled, allowing his head to lazily lean back and rest against the log they sat against. 

“I mean, intense, yes. Scary?” Feng made a contemplative noise and then mischievously smirked, “Maybe to David.”

Well, this was news. Quentin didn’t even bother hiding his intrigue about the new subject, deciding it was best to ignore the way Feng smiled knowingly at his reaction. He sat up, picking up one of the rocks from his former stack and tossed it between his hands, needing something to fidget with.

“Did they get into a fight or something?” He tried for casual as he asked, but knew it didn’t fool the smaller woman at all.

“Relax, _loverboy_ , your crush only has eyes for you.” Feng Min rolled her eyes and then promptly yelped when Quentin socked her gently in the arm. She slapped him in the shoulder back and for a brief moment their conversation devolved into half hearted tussling, the type that one could expect from siblings perhaps.

“I don’t have a _crush_ on him.” Quentin growled as he head locked her, the urge to noogie her head looking more appealing by the second. Feng Min pinched the arm holding her in place, rudely twisting her hand and then pulling some arm hair in the process. It hurt a lot more than Quentin cared to admit, and he released his grasp on her. 

“Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever. _Hate crush_ —whatever you guys want to call it.” The girl flippantly waved a hand through the air as she righted herself, taking extra care to ensure the hole she’d just fixed hadn’t ripped again. “Anyways, a few trials ago after we got that booze, he and Jake totally got into it. And Jake threatened to leave him for the killer, shit you not.”

Gossip. Some things really did never get left behind from the high school years. Still, the idea that King was intimidated into behaving by their resident lone wolf was an intriguing one. Quentin wasn’t sure if he should be happy that someone managed to do it, or jealous that he couldn’t quite cause that effect himself. 

What did it really matter, right? David was just a constant thorn in his side, nothing more, nothing less.

“After that King was the most _well behaved boy_ in the trial.” Feng mockingly concluded, a smug aura radiating off of her person.

Whether or not it was nice that she was shit talking their companion wasn’t an issue in Quentin’s mind and he found himself laughing quietly at the mental image up until a large hand clapped down on his shoulder and gripped tight. He jumped slightly, adrenaline immediately coursing so hard through his veins that he reflexively looked around to try and find the killer. For one paranoid second he thought for sure he could hear children laughing and singing, that he had somehow fallen asleep during a trial and imagined this whole conversation and Freddy was going to get him—

It said a lot about the bond he and Feng had developed that the girl took one look at his suddenly paler complexion and didn’t point it out, instead unleashing some of her temper at the person who’d grabbed him. He couldn’t vocalize it at the current moment, but Quentin was grateful for the discretion.

“What the fuck, David?” Feng snapped and narrowed her eyes.

Fantastic. Just what he needed. Quentin really hoped he was wearing a shirt. For some reason the bigger man had decided he liked going through trials with half his clothes and his stupid pecs, his stupid abs, his stupid everything were an annoying distraction every time he was forced to be around them. 

Quentin shoved the hand off his shoulder, scowling when David just put his other hand on his other shoulder. There was no reason to turn around, not when he knew if he did he was likely to start an even worse fight.

“Sounded like you two were havin’ a good time gossipin’.” David’s tone was innocent, though had an underlying current of anger. He definitely knew that they’d been talking about him. “Anything in particular catch your fancy?”

“Yeah, idiot.” Feng snorted and sat back with a put upon expression, crossing her arms defensively, “But we don’t have to tell you.”

“Where’s all this hostility comin’ from?” David sat down heavily between them, throwing his arm more leisurely around Quentin’s shoulders because he obviously knew that it would rile him up, “I’m just tryin’ t’ hang with my pals.”

Quentin couldn’t help it, he scoffed. 

Just like that King’s attention quickly flipped to him, focusing intently on the way he was hugging his knees and frowning at him. It was what the bigger man wanted, Quentin knew; another fight to ease the tension of the camp even for a little while so that David could feel like he was making a difference. The worst part was, perhaps, that Quentin could see the validity in doing so. At least then they wouldn’t have to keep sitting there, stagnant and waiting for anyone else to show up and tell them all what had happened. 

“Got somethin’ t’ say, Smith?” 

God, words couldn’t describe how badly Quentin did want to open his mouth and give himself something to do. He knew he would have if he’d not been interrupted in that moment by Ace Visconti staggering back into camp.

The way the older man was moving, coherent and twitchy from the trial, meant that he probably hadn’t been killed. The instincts that kicked in every time in order to survive were difficult to shake immediately after escape, and normally meant that those who had been summoned and survived the ordeal spent a few hours flinching at every noise above a whisper. No one pointed it out anymore, it was just another norm that they’d all been forced to grow used to.

Ace ignored all of them to stagger his way over to Jake, and it was around this time that Quentin made a point of looking away. Whatever had been developing between those two was something private and intimate in a way that always made him feel like he was an outsider looking in. He wasn’t the only one, he knew. Even Feng Min, who loved to indulge in the happenings of others, gave them their privacy as Jake woke up with a gasp and they heard Ace’s hushed apology. 

Uncomfortably hyper aware of everything now, Quentin debated whether he should shove David’s arm away now or wait for the two most volatile survivors to move first. On the one hand, David’s body heat was making him antsy in a way that had him picking at the dirt under his nails; on the other, if he moved now he risked breaking up whatever moment was occurring only a few feet away and thusly drawing Jake’s ire. He and the others weren’t dumb, something had been brewing between the two for a while now and it felt like things were finally coming to a head. 

Luckily for all of them, Jake suddenly stood and led Ace away, their hands clasped tightly as they walked. 

Quentin let out a breathe he hadn’t even realized he had been holding, relaxing slightly with every step away from them the duo took. He could hear Feng Min mutter something under her breath, a curse word in another language, and even David refrained from commenting on the unusual pair. Then, Quentin realized he had slumped into David’s hold and immediately scooted away as though he had been electrocuted. 

The movement broke up the moment enough at least to give Feng Min the confidence to smirk at him tauntingly, things falling back into some semblance of normalcy. David looked at him, irritation broadcasting through his gaze, and Quentin opened his mouth to blurt the first thing he could think of.

“You smell horrible, man.”

Feng Min didn’t try to break the ensuing fight up, merely watched and goaded them both on.


	2. Chapter 2

There were some killers that Quentin dreaded the sight of more than others. Besides the obvious, he always felt a pervading sense of unease when he realized he had been put up against the teleporting nurse and the giant man that stumbled around with a chainsaw, the latter of which was his current cause for concern. The Cannibal is what he and the others had taken to referring to him as, and he was much worse than the leaner counterpart that could sprint with his own similar weapon of choice. 

No, there was something about the way that the Cannibal would swing his chainsaw around haphazardly, making avoiding the weapon near impossible, that made Quentin almost nauseous. 

It wasn’t unusual for him to scurry around the contained areas more carefully than some of the athletically inclined or louder personalities, but around the behemoth of a man he stepped as lightly as possible. Any wrong move and he would get a hammer to the skull or a chainsaw to the guts, which would honestly be just his luck. This was why he'd probably only been caught once so far this trial and he was intending to try and keep it that way. He'd made an extremely narrow escape with Laurie earlier, only able to get away by allowing the woman to let herself get caught once he was unhooked. He was in the cornfields, one of them at least, and swore softly underneath his breath as he tried to navigate the dense vegetation, pausing when he heard the pained cry of another survivor. 

It wasn’t in his nature to avoid helping others, not anymore, not after everything Freddy had put him through and the friends he had lost. Someone who didn’t know Quentin well would probably think he was stupid for heading towards the screams rather than away from them, but any time he tried to distance himself from situations he would always remember Nancy’s terrified shrieks and the syringe full of adrenaline that he’d had to inject into her. He couldn’t just leave someone to their fate, it wasn’t in him. 

Whoever it was sounded like a man and also sounded further than Quentin would have liked. He had no way of knowing if the two others were unharmed and would be moving to help, because depending on the survivor it sometimes meant there'd be no help at all. That was fine, Quentin could understand. 

He'd brought a med kit with him into the fog this time and so he felt a sliver more prepared than the endless trials without one, which was already enough to bolster his confidence even a little. As the distance between a loudly running chainsaw and his own soft footsteps grew smaller, he made sure to weave around as many obstacles as he could, staying close to anything that could be used as an improvised hidey hole. 

It was with his heart pounding in his ears and the sound of his breathing heavy in the night sky that he spotted the Cannibal’s odd gait as he chased after what could only be David King. Quentin frowned because it was pure bad luck that it would be the brawler, not because he would be angry enough to not help the other man, but mainly because King didn't know how to shut his trap and hide. If he was to genuinely help the man, it would be tricky to keep the Cannibal away from King, but also King away from the Cannibal.

“Come on then! Can't move yer fat arse fast enough?!” David bellowed over his shoulder, even as one of his arms cradled a bleeding gash on his side. Typical.

Quentin sighed loudly in annoyance through his nose, tracking the duo as they circled a hay bale once then twice. David wouldn't be able to outrun the other forever, the killers seemed to sometimes be granted a boost in speed by the Entity the longer a chase took. But, Quentin was only on his first hook were David was on his third--he could afford to be caught at least one more time unlike the other man.

He moved ever closer to the pair as David was forced to veer away from the hay bale and towards the rusting metal walls of the meat factory that rested in the center of the environment. It was easy enough to follow on the opposite side, David's loud voice and the Cannibal's revving chainsaw providing a trail to follow. There were pounding sneakered footsteps headed his way now, and so Quentin ducked behind a corner, bracing himself to intercept the Brit.

Sure enough King careened around the corner so fast that Quentin barely had time to react, but react he did, using all of his weight to tackle the bigger man into a side room and behind the pig carcasses hanging from the ceiling. The only sound David was able to emit was a surprised wheeze and then they hit the ground heavily, skidding behind the weak cover. Quentin was lucky that King was too shocked to start angrily yelling at him as soon as they stopped moving, but Quentin decided not to take any chances, scooting up the other man's abdomen in a scramble to slap a hand over his mouth. 

Mere seconds later the Cannibal's lumbering footsteps also turned the corner, though they hesitated as the monster of a man realized he had lost track of King. Quentin was trying his best to muffle his breathing, shooting an aggravated look down at David when the other survivor tried to tug his hand off of his face. He didn't move it, instead huddling closer to try and blend them both into the shadows cast by the corpses with his darker clothes. The Cannibal shuffled around a little while longer, drawing nearer to where they were hidden as the seconds crawled past. 

For a heart stopping moment Quentin was positive that they were about to be spotted, but then a generator came to life in the distance and the giant killer turned with a nonsensical babble of noise, wandering off to investigate. They were lucky the man's attention span was almost childlike in nature because at the very least it meant something like this could work.

Quentin waited for the chainsaw's rumble to fade before he chanced a glance down at King, jolting when he realized the big man was staring right at him. It wasn’t the glare he had been expecting and Quentin couldn't define really what it was before David's expression snapped back to his usual pissed off face. His hand was shoved off of King's mouth, nearly unbalancing him fast enough to almost smack foreheads.

“What the fuck are you doing?” David demanded, sitting up so suddenly that Quentin fell hard onto the other man's lap before rolling off. 

“Saving you.” He snapped back while he righted himself.

“Oh, is that what you’re callin’ it? I was doin’ just fine without you tacklin’ me to the floor!” 

Okay, he should have expected this. Hell, he had expected this. Quentin rolled his eyes and counted backwards from ten, calming his temper flaring indignantly. At this David only seemed to become more incensed, hauling himself up with a grunt.

“You rollin’ your eyes at me? Fuck off.” 

“Yeah, how bout’ a _thank you_ , maybe?” Quentin snarled as he brushed off his shirt—which was a useless action given that it was stained forever with blood, but it felt right to show how peeved he was to the bigger man.

“For what? Way I see it you didn’t do nothin’.” David sneered at him and then pointedly stepped around him. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Quentin turned, exasperated, and grabbed one of his arms. King immediately jerked away, shooting him a poisonous glare, but Quentin found he didn’t really have time for the other man’s childish antics and held up his med kit with a sarcastic flourish. “Can you hold still for maybe a fucking second?”

“I can find my own.” David argued, making as though he was going to try and seriously leave the conversation. Quentin again grabbed his arm and when King whirled on him again, he jabbed a finger into David’s frustratingly well defined chest.

“No, you’re gonna sit the fuck down and let me _heal you_ before you go running off to get yourself killed. So shut up and lift your shirt so I can see what we’re dealing with.” 

His frustration apparently caught King off guard enough for him to just grab the hem of his shirt himself and then yank it up far enough to peer at the gash bleeding sluggishly in the brawler’s side. If the other man did have any protests, they were cut off as David hissed in pain, flinching at the feeling of the fabric suddenly peeling away from the open wound. It wasn’t pretty, but it was something that Quentin had dealt with before at least, and so he gestured with his hand holding the shirt up.

“Hold that for me.” It was an order, not a request, and Quentin was relieved when David simply complied instead of trying to draw all of this out longer.

The med kit had various basic things within it, it wasn’t one of the better ones but wasn’t the worst kind either. He was good at collecting medical supplies enough to even make the nearly empty ones better simply by dispersing things between kits. Sewing King completely shut was out of the question, they didn’t have enough time and Quentin didn’t trust the bigger man to not begin arguing again.

So he gathered up some gauze and medical tape, as well as a little bit of gel to hopefully at least help congeal the wound and also numb the inflamed skin around it. It was only a temporary mend but it would have to do. 

“Keep this still.” Quentin instructed as he gently lay a folded rectangle of gauze after he’d applied the gel.

“Bossy.” King remarked, and even though Quentin couldn’t see his face, it oddly sounded like he was amused by the proceedings. He didn’t bother responding past a grunt when David’s blood covered fingers held the gauze in place, and he began to wind the medical tape around the man’s thick torso. “Does it gotta go all the way round? I feel like a mummy.”

“Yes, because I don’t trust you to not just rip it off in thirty seconds.” Quentin grumbled, brows furrowed in concentration as he finished up, “So do me a favor and try to make this last.”

“Your confidence in me is—” David cut off at the same time Quentin’s head snapped up. The rumbling of the chainsaw was very close.

How had he not noticed that sooner? 

“Fuck.” He heard David curse quietly and a quick glance up at the other’s face confirmed that his eyes had gone wide. 

There was no way King was in any condition to do his extreme version of tag with the Cannibal, not right now. Quentin snapped the med kit shut quickly and then shoved it into King’s now free hands, trying to force him back towards the corner they had been hiding in.

“What the fuck do you think you’re _doing?_ ” David snarled, an echo from moments earlier, pushing back and refusing to move. 

“I’m going to distract the killer and you’re going to be a _good survivor_ and find a generator.” Quentin ground out through gritted teeth. “Stop being difficult!”

“What you think you can order me around just cause’ you did a shoddy patch job on me? Get outta my way and let a _real man_ handle things.”

There was no time to argue, the Cannibal was so close and Quentin had had enough of David’s poor attitude. His hand snapped up to punch King right in his wound, causing the other man to wheeze and double over in pain. Then, he was toppling the other over again into the corner, though this time from shoving him as hard as he could. David hit the ground and Quentin dove out from behind the wall, making sure to be as loud as possible as he ran towards a nearby open window.

The Cannibal rounded the corner and spotted him immediately, closer than Quentin had anticipated, light glinting off of his chainsaw. The window was vaulted and then Quentin took off, leading the killer away from David and to what he knew was most likely certain death. 

It didn’t matter. Better him than someone else. 

***

Quentin was still fuming when he finally returned to the campfire, hours later. His final memory of the trial had been to the feeling of a chainsaw sawing through his abdomen and then ripping up towards his head—it would seem the Cannibal didn’t like him as much he didn’t like the Cannibal.

It was unusual for him to feel anything other than the fog covering his brain when he came back from the dead. The fuzz that clogged up his mind was akin to when his senses became overloaded, a familiar but always uncomfortable state of being. The anger that he had felt saving David King’s ass and then getting yelled at for it was coursing through his veins the second his eyes opened, and it was with purpose that he stalked through the woods. 

The walk felt endless, another cruel trick by the Entity to allow him to marinate in his negativity alone, and more than once he found himself stumbling over a loose rock or hidden tree root. He wished he was able to traverse the vast wilderness around their home base as easy as Jake or Meg made it seem, but he was stuck with muffling another curse under his breath as his sneaker once more snagged on something tangled on the forest floor.

He only began to spot a light in the distance once his frustration had reached its peak, perfect for unleashing towards someone which was probably just what the Entity wanted. As soon as he was able to make out the distinct silhouette of a person, he was located in turn, Feng crying out in relief at his reappearance.

The genuine worry in her voice took some of the self righteous anger out of his sails enough to change his strides into a slower and more cautious walk. He blinked in confusion at the numerous eyes staring back at him, looking between each person carefully.

“Did something happen…?” He finally asked.

Something about the way everyone was gathered felt wrong, and it clicked in his head that Detective Tapp and King were much too close to each other, one of David’s hands fisted into the older man’s shirt. 

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” The words escaped his lips before he could stop them, sneering at the irate expression on David’s face, “Do you ever calm down?”

Tapp had his hands raised placatingly, they wavered only to give Quentin a relaxed wave to stave off his flaring temper, “Nothing’s wrong, we were just talking.”

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” Nea crowed from across the campfire, Laurie’s absence likely due to her having died after Quentin.

The detective’s attention switched briefly to the young woman, giving her a stern look to which she merely smirked at. Since Tapp’s arrival within the group, it had become clear that some people didn’t like the idea of a lawman around and Nea was definitely one of them. David released his hold on Tapp to take one step towards Quentin, expression thunderous.

Tapp stepped between them again, making himself into a barrier that Quentin found he didn’t appreciate. It felt too much like he was being coddled, as though he needed some sort of protector from the yappy Brit. He could feel his hands tighten into fists as they were held by his sides, the irrational urge to shove the detective out of the way growing. 

“So let’s talk.” Tapp firmly interjected, obviously trying to get David to keep his eyes on him.

It didn’t work. King only had eyes for him, and Quentin for David. Their argument had been interrupted once again by an outside force and once again he had died for it. Whatever hissy fit David felt the need to bestow upon him would only grow if they didn’t fight it out now, and Quentin didn’t much feel like dying a third time because of the bigger man. 

“Oh I’ll talk, but not t’ you, pig.” King snarled and shoved past Tapp, shoulder checking him forcefully.

The detective’s eyes closed in a way that spoke volumes of how he was controlling his own frustration, very blatantly being the bigger man. It was impressive, if a bit unneeded if the older man would just stay out of the situation unfolding. Quentin could hear Nea snicker meanly as he watched David close the distance between them, gaze never wavering. 

“Why can’t you ever just _cooperate?_ ” Quentin spat before the other man could open his mouth, deciding that it was high time he took control of how the conversation was going to go.

David scoffed in disbelief, pausing to run a hand through his hair, “Really? You’re gonna blame me for gettin’ yourself in somethin’?”

“Oh, _my fucking apologies_ for helping you not die!” Quentin finally exploded, shouting for the first time at the bigger man. He hadn’t reacted this hysterically since he had confronted his dad about Krueger, back when he’d assumed that Freddy was innocent. “If it hurts your _precious feelings_ this much, I’ll leave you to take a chainsaw to the gut next time!”

King didn’t respond with words, instead it was more of an animalistic yell and then he was on Quentin, knocking them both to the ground. A large fist smashed into the side of his face, dazing him enough to allow a second to strike him opposite, but he pulled himself together enough to drive his knee upwards and into David’s balls. The bigger man choked out a cry, curling in on himself but not moving off of Quentin, pinning him to the ground with his weight. 

He jabbed his elbow into David’s cheekbone, striking him hard enough to knock his head to the side and giving himself enough leeway to pull himself backwards and out from under the other man. King looked up at him, expression positively murderous and a bruise already blossoming on his face. Good riddance, Quentin thought, it would match his own. 

David was raising himself to pursue his awkward crawl, and Quentin could see Tapp’s hand reaching out to try and grab hold of the enraged Brit, but then a piercing whistle cut through the chaos. Quentin yelped, cringing and holding his ears. There was only one person who could whistle like that, which meant a second group must have just wrapped up their own trial. 

“What the fuck is going on here?!” Meg yelled into the silence that followed.

The red head had visible cuts and bruises on her and a new tear in her shirt, but she marched forwards angrily, moving past Jake who stood there with an unreadable expression. No one answered at first, giving David enough time to stand fully and pointedly take a step away from Tapp.

“ _Seriously?_ What are we, children?!” Meg snapped, flinching when the detective laid a hand on her shoulder.

“It was just an argument.” Tapp stated, a frown crossing his face when Nea sarcastically laughed.

“These arguments are getting out of hand.” Of all people, Jake spoke up and commanded the attention of every survivor around the campfire. Sometimes Quentin thought about who would be leader if it weren’t Dwight, but it wasn’t really a contest with the way Jake Park calmly handled everything. “Ace?”

Now everyone’s heads swiveled to look at their resident gambler, who was sat beside Bill. Ace shot him a cheeky smile, apparently unbothered as always by the saboteur’s intimidating persona, “King can’t control his temper tantrums.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” David yelled, rounding on the smaller man, “What are you, his fuckin’ lapdog now?”

“I’m just talkin’. Freedom of speech n’ all that.” Ace innocently replied, hands raised mockingly in a placating gesture as King took a menacing step towards him. He didn’t get further than that because Jake was taking a hold of his closest arm and jerking him back towards him. 

Quentin was secretly glad he had decided to gather himself before speaking, because the look on Jake’s usually neutral face was positively murderous. It wasn’t too much of a change, but his eyes were dark with unreadable emotion and his face was set in such a stone cold facade, that he radiated ill intent. David tried to yank his arm loose, but all he succeeded in doing was making Jake clamp down harder on his bicep and pull him closer. 

Hands gathered under his own arms, causing him to start as he realized Feng Min had made her way to his side and was helping him up. He gave a nod of thanks, registering the feeling of blood gushing down his chin once more. From his position he could see that Ace’s good mood was faltering in wake of witnessing the two men in the center of their gathering staring each other down. 

“There’s too much testosterone around here.” Feng Min grumbled under her breath, quiet enough for only Quentin to hear, “You’re all idiots.”

“What, you mad that I insulted your fuck buddy, rich boy?” David taunted, “Not used to gettin’ your feelings hurt?”

Feng Min inhaled sharply at King’s choice in words, and even Quentin couldn’t suppress a wince. If there was one thing even he knew when it came to the oddity that was Jake and Ace, it was that it was no one’s business to ever comment on it or involve themselves. He wished, somewhat hysterically, that Claudette and Dwight were here to diffuse the volatile situation because everyone left at camp right now were all going to make things worse. It figured that all of their rational thinkers would be dead when they needed them the most.

Everyone was geared up for another fist fight, which was why it was so surprising when Jake peered around David to lock eyes with Bill.

“You didn’t want to lend a hand?” Jake dryly asked.

“Detective Smartass looked like he had it under control.” Bill snorted, ignoring the sharp side eye Tapp shot his way. 

“Oi, are you fuckin’ ignoring me?” King growled, raising his free hand to more than likely try swinging at Jake’s face. Jake, for his part, caught David’s other arm and hauled him as close as he could.

“‘Y’know, you’re a real piece of work, King.” Jake calmly spoke to him, “Are you always this big of a hypocrite or am I just special?”

“What the fuck are you on about—”

“You come from money too, right?” Jake casually asked, “It’s pretty obvious with the way you handle yourself. And yet you keep strutting around and talking like you were raised on the streets.”

What?

The look on the brawler’s face was confirmation enough, if the way his cheeks flared in humiliation was any indication. Jake either didn’t notice, or didn’t care.

“When someone helps you, you say _thank you._ I’m pretty sure your mother must have at least taught you that—or have you always been privileged enough to forgo manners?”

“Don’t you talk about my mother that way.” David hissed, muscles coiled and tense. 

“I’m no mind reader, but I think it’s pretty obvious that whatever happened between you two,” And at this Jake finally glanced over in Quentin’s direction, gaze intense, “probably needs a thank you and not the attitude.”

It was Feng Min who let out a nervous giggle, vocalizing both she and Quentin’s nerves. He couldn’t be serious, right? Jake had never lashed out like this before, and the attention he was now giving Quentin was making him squirm in place. It made him feel like a guilty child who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, embarrassed even though Jake had not spoken a word to him. 

“Well?” Jake roughly shoved David to turn him Quentin’s way. 

“If you think I’m gonna be ordered around by—”

“It’s fine.” Quentin finally spoke up, interrupting King and trying not to wilt under the the level of intimidation Jake was exuding. “Seriously, it’s _fine._ It’s also none of your business. So could you let him go and stay out of it?”

Jake regarded him silently, only pausing his staring when Ace whistled softly from behind him. The saboteur glanced back at him, expression softening in a telling way even though he was rolling his eyes.

“Didn’t realize you were this ballsy, Smith.” Ace teased, lightly enough to break up the overwhelming tension that had gathered like storm clouds over the campsite. “Remind me to stay on your good side.”

The hold on David’s arms was released, and Jake wandered over towards the gambler while King rubbed his arms self consciously, very pointedly not looking anyone in the eyes. Feng muttered something under her breath that sounded a lot like unbelievable before making her way to Nea’s side, and Quentin felt a pang of regret over the way that even she was exhausted from everything that had just occurred. Things really were getting out of hand, weren’t they?

Everyone else fell to a background buzz in his mind as he gazed at David, tiredly observing him swat Tapp’s hand away and then stalk out of the camp and into the woods. He had never been good at sorting out feelings, not really. Back at home he'd made more of an effort with Nancy when he was still charmed by her pretty eyes and secretive smiles, but even then he never fought to sort things out with anyone else. If someone insulted him or mocked him, he rolled with it and simply accepted that it was better to try and ignore any anger that gathered in his gut.

Now, he felt like if he wasn't careful he was going to end up lashing out as violently as David all the time. It was a disconcerting thought, and he mused this could possibly be another symptom of depression or something like that, because at this point he was his own therapist and psychiatrist since there were no other options around here. 

A finger tapped his shoulder, jerking him out of his thoughts, and he became aware of the fact that he'd probably been standing in place for a few moments too long, probably making some of the others feel uncomfortable or worried. Detective Tapp held out some medical gauze as though it were a tissue and also a peace offering, certainly a strange combination but Quentin accepted it after a moment of hesitation. While he was still feeling residual pangs of annoyance over how the older man had treated him, he also couldn't stay mad at the man for just trying to help.

“Can we talk?” Tapp asked with all the awkward grace of a man who used to interrogate criminals.

Quentin didn’t want to, he really was all talked out after everything, but he still nodded nevertheless as though he was expecting his father to walk out of the forest and admonish him for being rude to an officer of the law. Maybe there was hope for him yet if he still felt obligated to be polite to certain folks. Maybe.

***

“You know, I was kicked off the force.” Tapp casually began their conversation as they plodded through the woods, never straying too far from the light of the campfire. 

Quentin could feel his brows lifting in surprise that he could do little to hide; when it came down to it he had never been good at hiding much of anything, his face always spoke volumes for him. Luckily for him, the detective didn’t seem offended, genuinely letting out a small chuckle at his reaction. Dozens of ideas as to why Tapp had been let go ran through Quentin's head, ranging from getting too old to Tapp snapping one day and murdering a suspect in custody because he was a loose canon. The guy he killed probably murdered his wife or something, and he'd sworn vengeance on him ever since.

“Did you, uh, kill a guy?” The question escaped his lips before he could stop it, and it was followed immediately by a wince at the bluntness of his words.

Again Tapp chuckled, though the sound quickly fell back to a pensive sort of silence. The older man seemed to need to gather his thoughts before he spoke and Quentin didn't interrupt him, knowing quite well how hard it was to talk sometimes.

“No. Well, in a way, yes.” Tapp finally sighed, hands shoving themselves into his pockets, “It was my mistake that got them killed, so it was as good as me pulling the trigger.”

Quentin didn't know what to say to that and so chose not to speak at all, waiting patiently for the detective to either elaborate or lead the conversation where he was wanting it to go. The other man wouldn't have told him something like this for no reason, of that Quentin was positive. 

“It was my partner.” Tapp continued, eyes scanning around the woods with the sort of keenness one would expect from a seasoned cop, “He died and I got a knife to the throat.”

One of Tapp's hands raised to gingerly massage his neck, at the scar that would surely be there if Quentin stared long enough. He wouldn't though. He knew that some scars were far too personal to just show another without a certain level of security. 

“Why are you telling me this?” Quentin asked in the pregnant pause that followed, snapping Tapp out whatever introspection he had been caught up in. The detective shot him a wry smile, his hand falling away from his neck.

“I can tell when someone's been a victim of certain kinds of trauma.” He shrugs, “We all tend to act fairly similarly.”

His spine stiffened in surprise and his muscles tightened in a way that made him stumble a step. Quentin caught himself and tried to play off the move, but he knew Tapp had seen and taken note of it. 

“I—I don’t know what you mean.” His voice wobbled precariously. 

“I’m not going to push and ask what happened.” Tapp gently stated, not staring him down and giving him room to breath, for which Quentin was grateful of, “I’m just calling it like I see it. You, me, Bill, Laurie...there’s a distinct difference between us and the rest.”

Despite the fact that his hands were still shaking from his emotions going haywire, and the fact that for a moment he could have sworn he heard Freddy laughing darkly into his ear, he felt himself grow intrigued. Against his better judgement he ventured to ask, “How?”

There were a few moments following the simple word where they trudged on through the dark and lonely woods without any sound outside of their shoes snapping twigs and crunching fallen leaves. Quentin only ventured a glance once and it was to confirm what he figured was happening: Tapp was thinking out how to respond. He didn’t mind, the lull in the conversation allowed his heartbeat to calm down to more acceptable levels, the sweat that had been gathering in his palms and on his brow ebbing away and leaving him feeling clammy but better. 

The detective cleared his throat, nodded to himself, and responded, “You can tell the difference between those of us that had been dealt a near death experience before becoming...immortal, I guess. Cause’ we’ve been through something like this but genuinely almost did die unlike the rest of the others at the camp. Our instincts and drive to survive are a lot different than the folks who know that even if they’re killed, they’ll eventually wake back up. Sometimes it feels like the others think of helping anyone as a game or a chore, but never anything too serious.”

Quentin stopped walking, brain shifting into overdrive as he ran everything over and over in his mind. He hadn’t noticed—hell, he doubted anyone else had either—but Tapp was right. It was one thing to unhook a fellow survivors because there was strength in numbers, but it was another to constantly flashback to the time Before, when death meant actually dying and losing someone meant they were permanently gone.

Like Jesse. Like Chris. Like...like maybe even Nancy. 

Every time he witnessed a weapon getting shoved through someone’s gut, knocking a fellow survivor off of their feet, blood staining the ground, he was filled with the instinct to try and save them because they were going to _die!_ They were going to die and Quentin could have saved them! Once they were gone Quentin would be all alone and it would be _his fault_ and then who would help him, who would even begin to understand that he couldn’t even fall asleep without burnt fingers reaching for him, stroking his face and slowly sinking claws into him—

Quentin gasped, head snapping up to stare wide eyed at Tapp, who he noticed was carefully watching him. His hands were shaking again. How long had he been standing there, unresponsive?

“S-sorry.” He stuttered weakly, cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

The detective gave him a small, but genuinely reassuring smile, “It’s alright. I’ve been there.”

He had, hadn’t he?

“If anything I should be apologizing.” Tapp continued and then waved off Quentin’s reflexive protests, “I should have been more clear that what I was gonna talk about would be potentially...rough.”

“No, it’s—it’s fine, seriously. I just haven’t really talked about this...stuff at all with anyone.” Quentin floundered more helplessly than he would’ve liked with the conversation, but luckily Tapp must have had experience with people who didn’t make much sense.

“Yeah. I’m not really keen on sharing much with the others either.” The detective mused, scrubbing a hand tiredly down his face, “The point of all this was that I wanted to let you know that you got someone in your corner who actually understands what you’ve been through. You don’t gotta ever elaborate what happened to you but...but I needed to let you know that you’re not as alone as you might think. And I’m here if you ever need to talk, alright?”

The sincerity in the detective’s tone eased a weight off of Quentin’s shoulders that he hadn’t even been aware he’d had.

“Yeah.” He nodded to himself, “Yeah, alright.”

“And, the other equally as important point, is that you and David really need to hash this stuff out.” Tapp concluded, “I’m not saying you gotta tell him everything, just that...you two need to make it clear why you keep butting heads. Cause’ I saw what happened at the farm and that shit can’t keep repeating. It doesn’t help anyone if you two are constantly getting each other killed.”

Though it sucked to admit, the detective had a point. Quentin wasn’t sure how exactly he was going to be able to even try initiating a conversation with King, but something told him that he’d have to be the bigger man. 

“Being responsible sucks.” Quentin thought aloud, pleased when Tapp let out a genuinely delighted laugh.

“Yes, it really does.” The detective agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s...been a while. :’’’^)
> 
> I’m sorry this took so long and honestly I’m not happy with this chapter, but I just need to get it done so I can move onto the next one! I’m excited for it and I hope ya’ll are Ready For Freddy because he’s dropping in next update. 
> 
> BUT YEAH. Let me tell you, writing a couple that are supposed to go from enemies to lovers is fucking hard man. Jake was so much easier because he was just horny on main smdh....


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: this chapter involves Freddy and Quentin interacting which means ya’ll should know some triggering things are gonna happen. There is no sexual assault however, Freddy does insinuate some things and—I mean, really, you can imagine what may go down between them. Please do not read if this would potentially be triggering to you!

Awareness flooded into his systems as though he'd been dropped in a pool, sudden, shocking, and too much too fast. Normally he had a few seconds to collect himself before figuring out what to do, but as soon as his brain registered that he was staring at the worn down sign of Badham Preschool, he was denied the luxury. 

It was inevitable that he would eventually be forced to go through a trial here, just as inevitable as it was for Laurie or Tapp with their own respective memory lanes, but he had thought that maybe he would be more prepared by the time it happened. He was not ready to stare at the open front door to the building again, a gaping maw that loomed ominously before him. Just as clearly as it had happened years before, Quentin could envision he and Nancy carefully making their way into the preschool and down to the basement below. 

Would there still be desks and chairs leftover inside? Would the abandoned boards have chalk doodles still haunting them? He didn't want to know. He couldn't go in there, it was too much too soon.

With a jerky step back, he quickly looked around for anywhere else to escape to. There were husks of cars parked in the front alongside a hook covered in old blood and to his right, the yard that children once played in, their toys scattered like lawn ornaments. 

He would find a generator away from this place, he decided. There had to be a few spread amongst the trees or other miscellaneous buildings. It was unfortunate that the only other time he'd been in this place had been in the beginning, because he had been too stunned and scared to pay attention as to where things were located. The result meant that Quentin was stuck tentatively tip-toeing around, much more cautious than he'd ever been before. 

After what felt like an eternity he finally came upon a generator with no sign of having been worked on. It was far enough away from the preschool for Quentin to feel safe to squat down and gingerly reach his hands inside the machine, though his ears remained strained to pick up any indication of danger. Minutes passed, the progression on the machine was slower than normal which could only mean that one of those totems were in play. The magic that was fueled by the bone offerings made no sense, but Quentin had been handling a dream demon before any of this and so it hadn't taken any time at all to simply roll with the idea. 

He hoped that one of the others was actively looking for the bundles, as there was no way he was going to be doing more than the bare minimum if he could help it. Almost in sync with the generator finishing was the terrified and pained shriek of a survivor being hooked, and Quentin whirled around in panic, glancing around to try and see if he could pinpoint the direction the shout came from. There had been no telling sounds thus far to accompany the trial, which meant he was essentially stuck in the dark for the time being. 

At least there was one generator done. One more and he could place his faith in hopefully getting the hatch if not escaping through one of the doors. And really, if Quentin allowed himself to try and rationally think things through as he crept away from his position, the odds of going against Freddy in this specific environment was slim.

Something that they'd all quickly caught on to was that even when a killer came with a new arena for them to risk their lives in, it hardly meant that they'd be stuck there every time survivors encountered then. Laurie had pointedly mentioned that she'd only run into her brother once in the nightmarish suburbia they both came from, and countless other times everywhere else. 

With this in mind, Quentin hauled himself over a windowsill and through an open window, the house eerily silent. The lights were flickering, the only indication the Entity allowed them as to whether or not there was a generator hidden inside, which was a good sign. In another time Quentin would have been probably unnerved by the horror movie-like feeling, but now all he really felt was relief in knowing that he would be able to at least get two generators done and allow himself an additional escape option.

Time passed in a blur, in the way it always did when he hyper-focused on things, as his hands moved almost unconsciously. It had been a while since he’d had an episode of hyper fixation during a trial, and in a way, Quentin was thankful for his brain locking in on the task and remaining oblivious to any outside forces. Any other time and he would’ve been paranoid of someone yanking him off the machine, but with the overhanging threat of too familiar of a territory, he continued to allow his brain to fill with fuzz and fixate on the task at hand. 

Distantly, Quentin registered that several more people had been hooked, but his brain didn’t allow him to deviate. Every time he tried to tear his attention away, inevitably he could feel his his mind drifting back to the generator that was near completion. He would catch flack for this later at the campfire, he knew, because he wasn’t helping anyone who was being terrorized, but that was better than dragging the trial out. 

Finally the last gear clicked into place inside the belly of the machine and it whirred to life, the electricity in the building evening out and lighting the corners of the room he was crouched in. Quentin stood carefully, knees popping from remaining in one position for too long, and cautiously made his way out of the room, making sure to peek around doorways before advancing into them. He had his money on the killer potentially being the Wraith, though he hadn’t heard the tell tale ringing that came from the man’s bell, and his eyes strained to pick up on any warping of his surroundings.

Perhaps Myers? That would explain why there had been no sound at all, not even his heart pounding tellingly in his ears to warn him of oncoming danger.

Another distant whirring of sound echoed in the nearly silent environment, signaling another generator powering on. This was good, they'd be done in no time at all. He peeked out of one of the ground floor windows, catching a glimpse of Feng Min sneakily making her way out of the general area the noise had come from.

Quentin felt relief in seeing another survivor, but it was a mixed feeling. There were some folks that he couldn't handle seeing die more than others, and Feng was one of them. Hopefully they'd both make it and she could chew him out about not helping anyone off hooks later at the campfire.

The thought gave him some measure of control over his emotional state going haywire, staving off the paranoia and panic enough to give him strength to continue on. He could already imagine the colorful curses that would be spat by his friend-- maybe he would open up a little to her about why the trial had been so difficult for him. It wouldn't hurt to have another set of eyes to look out for him the next time he was forced to come back here.

The remainder of the trial passed quicker than Quentin had anticipated, though by the time the final generator lit up and the exit gates had enough power to begin opening, he was unsure of who exactly was left with him. There had been more screams, and the air had exploded with power and the creaks and groans of an ancient being dragging at least two survivors into its own pocket dimension. Quentin made his way carefully to the closest gate, grabbing the rusty lever and forcing it down with a grunt of effort. The entire time he held it, the machine fought to right itself, as though the metal wasn't meant to be bending the way it was. Nevertheless the lights to signal the power of the gate slowly reaching enough to open flickered on, the red bulbs vibrant and dangerously bright in the gloom of the night sky. 

As the gates buzzer sounded and the gigantic metal doors heaved sideways, a pained cry ripped through the air. The other mystery survivor had been caught from the sound of it, though whether they were on their first or second hook was unknown. Quentin took a step inside the walkway to the exit and then hesitated, peering back into the oppressing darkness. He had spent the entire trial avoiding conflict which made him feel bad enough, was it in him to just abandon who ever it was now? Hell, the gate was wide open and if Quentin could just get to them fast enough…

Fuck. He had to try. 

His sneakers had only just managed to turn around and begin walking out of the safety of the exit when the singing hit him. Children humming a haunting, mocking tune, getting closer and closer. 

God, he was so tired. The trial had taken everything out of him and he wished he could just close his eyes for a second and give himself a break. That sounded great--just one moment of rest and then he would go and save whoever had been hooked and they would escape together. One moment…

Quentin's eyes snapped open from their half lidded haze, realization causing his heart to thrum in fright. The air dampened heavily, pressing down on his body as the world snapped into a palate of blacks and whites. No, no, there was _no way_ they had both been dropped in a trial in here of all places so soon after his arrival. What were the odds?

Freddy's dark chuckle alerted him to the presence behind him, he whirled in time to get shirt and stomach slashed, blood spurting out of the open wounds harshly.

“Fuck!” He yelped and shoved past the dream demon, breaking into a sprint for the portal away from this place. 

If he'd had more time to think, his brain would have registered the fact that Kreuger wasn't pursuing him or trying to prevent him from reaching his gateway to escape. The man simply stood back and watched with a mean grin near the entrance. But Quentin was consumed by a raw amount of adrenaline and panic, urging him to get out before Freddy could catch him.

When he tried to step through the dimensional doorway, he slammed into a wall of inky black tendrils that were blocking the exit. The force at which he hit the blockade caused him to rebound violently and he was sent sprawling onto his back.

“W-what the fuck…?” He managed to croak out as his vision dizzily spun from the severity of his head cracking against the ground.

“Y'know Quentin, I've been learning a few tools of the trade.” Freddy piped up behind him, slow and measured footsteps drawing him closer, “Ways to...draw the chase out, gimme more time to _play._ ”

Krueger's tone sounded sickeningly pleased. Quentin forced himself to roll over onto his stomach with a groan, arms and thighs shaking as he began to pull himself up. There was nowhere to run with his one escape option blocked, which meant he was going to try and at least give the man a fight before he was hooked. Freddy watched him struggle his way to his feet with an amused glint in his fox-like eyes, finding some sort of entertainment over his struggle.

Quentin had barely managed to stabilize himself past a crouch before Krueger’s hand impaled him, the knives slicing through his shoulder wetly and leaving Quentin to flounder in pain, thighs shaking from the effort to try and remain on his feet. He tried to say some sort of insult or word of protest, but when his mouth opened he was only able to gurgle in pain.

“You n’ me?” Freddy’s breath washed over his face, hot and smelling like burnt meat, “We’re gonna spend some _quality time_ together.”

With that he spun around and shoved Quentin to the floor, ripping his knives free from his shoulder so quickly and harshly that a short scream of pain was yanked out of him. His entire left side felt like it was on fire and Quentin realized with a mild amount of hysteria that he could only think of Claudette coaching them on the effects of blood loss and the state of shock a body could go into. 

The light of the exit was blocked out by Freddy taking a careful step over his middle and staring down at him, face at first blank as he watched him with snake-like hunger and then breaking into a wide, wide grin. He reached his non-gloved hand down to grab him by the hair, digging his fingers deep to clutch at the roots in his fist.

“C’mon. Let’s take a field trip—you remember those, right?” Freddy mockingly said and then harshly pulled Quentin as he began his walk out of the exit gate and back into the environment. 

Quentin cried out in protest and agony, forced to his knees and then in a lurching crawl of sorts to prevent the man from ripping out a chunk of his hair. Of all the trials to not wear his beanie—this was just his luck. Eventually Freddy seemed to grow fed up with his slow pace and inability to keep up with the alarming amount of energy fueling the demon, and so he released his grip only to simply pick him up and haul him over a shoulder.

The movement jostled Quentin’s bad arm, forcing him to choke back another cry of discomfort as he cradled his bleeding shoulder with his unharmed hand. Only when his vision stopped swimming and darkening at the edges was he able to register that he should be struggling because Freddy was entering the school with a purpose.

“ _No!_ ” Quentin cried, his efforts in escape renewed, “Let me go— _fuck you_ , get your hands off me!” 

He managed to knock the man’s hat off as Freddy finished his path down the stairs, though all it seemed to do was provide the other with even more amusement. A dark chuckle rolled out of his throat and then the anger in Quentin was amplifying directly alongside his instinctual fear response. Quentin’s hands flailed, catching on pipes hanging from the walls to try and halt Krueger’s process. The actions did nothing as Freddy seemed completely unhindered by them, simply continuing to walk forwards and forcing Quentin’s hands to jerk free.

“Let me fucking go— _oh!_ ” The air was knocked out of Quentin as Freddy threw him down. 

If only he’d begun struggling sooner, sometimes if a survivor fought hard enough against a killer’s grasp, the Entity granted them a temporary burst of adrenaline, enough to free them and get them back on their feet. As it was, pain screamed through his body when his bad shoulder impacted what felt like a cushion of sorts and unfocused his gaze to a nauseating degree, temporarily robbing him of the ability to speak. 

“If only you had a key.” Freddy’s thoughtful voice cut through the wave of burning and Quentin cracked his eyes open finally to register where he was.

He kind of wished he hadn’t.

It was the secret place, because of course it was. He was laying on the dirty mattress, with Krueger standing before him and looking down at the hatch. It had spawned right next to the bed, though remained closed. Fuck—how long did it take one person to die?!

As soon as the thought had passed through his brain, his mind instantly filled with shame and guilt at wishing for one of his companion’s deaths. 

“What’s wrong, Quen?” Freddy cooed and crouched down before him, “You look like you wanna cry. Gonna go tell Daddy all about it?”

“Fuck _you._ ” Quentin hissed, willing his body to at least sit upright and scoot as far away from the dream demon as he could.

Krueger cocked a nonexistent eyebrow at him but didn’t move closer, “Good idea but maybe we should take it slow? Treat me to some dinner first.”

Laughter bubbled in the back of Quentin’s throat, far more hysterical than he would’ve liked and so abrupt that even Freddy seemed taken aback by the sudden noise. The look on the other man’s face was priceless, so confused and jarred from the moment. 

“Fuck off, I’ve heard that comeback before, Krueger—losing your touch?” Quentin wheezed out between the surges of manic giggles. 

Freddy’s expression became something dark then, a horrifying landscape of pure fury when he decided that he wasn’t being taken seriously. The laughter dried up when fingers clamped around one of his ankles and yanked him back towards the other man, reeling him in like a fish. 

“You think this is _funny?_ ” Krueger snarled, and then dug his gloved hand into the folds of Quentin’s jacket, the fabric ripping loudly in protest, “You think you’re gonna get out? No one’s coming back for you, Quentin, and I’m gonna _brand_ my name into you until it fucking _sticks._ ”

He was trying to shred his shirt away, Quentin realized and retaliated with a firm kick directly to the demon’s face. It should’ve broken Freddy’s nose at least, but it seemed to do hardly anything other than fan the flames as a hand merely grabbed his calf and yank it over one of Freddy’s shoulders.

“ _Get off me!_ ” Quentin shouted, trying to free any of his limbs from their precarious position around the man, “Don’t fucking touch me!”

“What, don’t wanna spent some quality time with Uncle Freddy?” Krueger laughed viciously, “You always were a distracted little shit when you were a kid—never payed attention when it counted. Always made things so fucking _difficult!_ ”

It wasn’t fair—why did things always turn out this way? Why couldn’t Krueger just die? The childlike urge to cry and throw a temper tantrum welled up inside him. He wanted to go home! He wanted to leave the scary basement! He wanted his daddy!

“Stop!” Quentin sniffled, horrified by the fact that Freddy was making him feel five years old again, helpless and small, “ _Stop!_ ”

Freddy wasn’t stopping, he was finally ripping the front of his shirt open enough to plant the tip of a claw on his skin, tracing the outline of his collarbone while Quentin shook beneath him. How was he going to explain this to the others? What if the markings didn’t go away? What if—

“He said stop you fucking pervert.” 

They both looked up in unison at that, just in time to comprehend David King smashing a rock as hard as he could into the side of Freddy’s skull. The demon’s head snapped to the side so quickly that it threw him off balance and gave Quentin enough leverage to kick himself loose. The blow wasn’t going to stun the killer for long, something that they both knew, because David lurched forward and grabbed Quentin by the arm, yanking him to his feet and breaking into a sprint.

Luckily the bigger man had grabbed him by his good arm or Quentin faintly thought that he may have passed out from the pain of the festering wound. They cleared the steps to the basement in record time, rounding the doorway to the school and hurrying towards the exit. There was a roar of animalistic rage behind them, a signal to the fact that Krueger had gotten up from his wound and wasn’t happy.

“Don’t stop.” King huffed out between breaths. Quentin wanted to scoff something along the lines of ‘why would he do that?’, but he was too strung out and exhausted to do anything more than move his feet. 

Then they were clearing the exit and entering the black fog of their escape, the sudden temperature drop cool on his otherwise sweat-caked skin and a welcoming relief. 

The haze lifted slowly but surely to the tangled woods of their haven, though there was no campfire in sight. A breath passed, then two, then three, and David looked at him with an unreadable expression.

There were many questions Quentin wanted to ask in that moment, still strung up on fear and fight or flight. But the second he opened his mouth, all that came out was bile, vomited on the ground between them.

“Oh,” David sounded disgruntled, “gross.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know David technically wouldn’t be asleep after being hooked blah blah blah, but for the sake of what needed to happen, he was still asleep. 
> 
> This one was a rough one to write so I decided to keep Freddy contained to one chapter and leave it at that. Hopefully ya’ll....uh.....enjoy??? Idk, next chapter will more than likely be longer, just felt like this one kind of needed to be on its own even if it feels really abrupt and like...out of no where.
> 
> Also, who knows which perk Freddy used to prevent Quentin from escaping? :^)


	4. Chapter 4

For a while the only sound that Quentin could comprehend was the air entering and exiting his lungs noisily to the beat of his heart. Vomiting was a pointless act given that there was no food or water to even regurgitate, but his body put forth a valiant effort as another wave of gut churning nausea forced him to once again hunch over and retch into the ground. His chest burned as though he had been coughing up pure stomach acid, which honestly he might have, and his limbs were visibly trembling to even remain on all fours. 

The adrenaline hadn’t left his systems yet, still thrumming bright and steady in his core because his mind was still convinced that he may potentially have never woken up and Freddy could be hiding and waiting for an opportunity to strike again. As soon as the thought fluttered through his strung out mind, he chanced a habitual and furtive glance around. 

His eyes didn’t land on Krueger, just David for the third time, still crouched to his side. During the first round of dry heaving the bigger man had awkwardly attempted to help him, though it became quickly apparent that he may of been normalized to drunk vomiting and not trauma-induced. The way he uncomfortable gave a firm pat to his back had nearly toppled Quentin forwards onto his face and by the time he had righted himself the brawler had jerked his hands away as though he’d been burned and mumbled an apology. 

He hadn’t left him on his own though, which Quentin still wasn’t sure yet if he was thankful for or not. 

The full body shudders wracking through him lessened enough to allow him to ease back once more, exhaustion quickly flaring up. He didn’t sit so much as collapse against the base of a tree, wiping at his sticky and slimy lips with a grimace on his jacket sleeve.

Fuck, his jacket. He hadn’t even registered how cold he was during his puking sessions. A quick glance down confirmed that the Entity had played one last horrid trick on him by not even slightly mending his ripped clothes, shirt basically nonexistent and jacket suffering large holes in the fabric. Quentin dropped his head back against the tree with a loud sigh, unable to look in King’s direction quite yet.

Still, he couldn’t stand sitting in silence for another few minutes, especially with the way David’s gaze was burning into the side of his head. 

“Well, that went about as well as I expected.” Quentin joked, though his tone fell flat in the night sky, “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

When the other man didn’t speak up right away, Quentin forced himself to look over. The expression on King’s face was...well, it was difficult to decipher. If Quentin had to define it, he’d say angry, but not the usual huffy kind that came from their disagreements before now. It was an intense look and one that made him squirm in place, unsettled and wishing the Entity would throw him a bone and grant the survivors alcohol once more. 

“Okay…” Quentin drew the word out slowly and averted his gaze, “Good talk.”

“How can you…” David blurted but then trailed off just as quickly, jerking Quentin’s focus back to his crouched form. 

Well, he didn’t expect talking to be King’s strong suit. Quentin was perfectly fine with letting the other man stew and try to figure out how to vocalize what he was thinking while he sat and took deep, measured breaths to try and calm his stomach down.

Moments passed, though Quentin could never tell just how long. He entertained himself with staring up at the canopy of tree branches that criss-crossed overhead, the night sky never filled with stars, rather a large fake moon floating alone in the void. It said something that wherever they were, stars didn’t exist. 

“Are you okay?” King cut into his musing abruptly. 

Well. That was the question of the hour.

Quentin allowed himself a few more seconds of staying inside his head before responding, because the answer was a loaded one and not something he particularly wished to divulge too much about. 

“In general?” He gestured half heartedly with a hand, “No. In this specific instance? Also no.”

He had attempted to make himself sound as though he was light hearted about stating the facts, but came off more truthful and depressed. It was almost startling to admit because when he looked back on his past actions, even before he had been yanked into the Entity’s realm, the truth was that he hadn’t been alright for a long time. Quentin grimaced to himself, inwardly peeved that he had said anything in the first place. 

“Hey man, don’t worry about whatever you heard or saw.” He valiantly attempted to rectify the uncomfortable situation, “It just comes with the territory when me and...Freddy run into each other. Trust me, not something you have to worry about.”

The smile stretched across his face was thin and fake, feeling brittle next to David's constant frown. 

“So that's his name?”

“Uh, yeah, _yeah_. Freddy Kreuger.” If he said the demon's name three times into the night air, would it summon him like in Beetlejuice? Quentin missed that movie— hell, he missed being able to watch _any_ movie. Nothing ever worked as a good distraction quite like horror movies.

It clicked in his head that he didn't need those films anymore because he was living several at once, and it startled a strangled chuckle out of him. King eyed him warily, possibly assuming that he was about to lose it once more, which, maybe he was. Nevertheless the bigger man shuffled closer a step or two before resituating himself, near enough to be able to reach out and probably slap Quentin if he started to go off the deep end.

“What's so funny?” David crossly asked, his large forearms balanced on top of larger thighs.

Fuck. Quentin didn't want to notice that at the moment. He quickly averted his eyes from straying for too long on the musculature of the other man, laughter drying up on his tongue and ended with a nervous cough.

“Just, uh. Did you ever watch movies back at home?”

“I didn't live under a rock.” David dryly shot back and eased a tiny bit of the tension gripping his heart so tightly that it made it hard to breathe. 

“What was your favorite genre?” He used to have debates on what movies were cinematic masterpieces and what were dogshit with Jesse. It was one of their favorite topics to pretend to get angry about, dissolving usually into name calling and uninventive insults. 

“Dunno. Action stuff, I guess? Y'know, _Fast and Furious_ , shit like that.” 

Figured.

“Mine was horror--uh, slashers. Even...like, even after everything with Freddy. For some reason I didn't freak out watching teenagers get slaughtered and the final girl have to fight the killer off.” A fond smile ghosted across his face, “Maybe it's because I dealt with the real thing and made it out alive. All that stuff in the movies just seemed…”

He waved his hand irritably through the air as he tried to find the right word.

“Fake.” 

David looked confused by the conversation, though his eyes were narrowed in concentration. His gaze darted down to take in Quentin's ripped clothing, of which Quentin only barely managed to not cringe in on himself self consciously. In theory he knew he wasn’t ugly per se, but the level of sleep deprivation and near death experiences had left him with a much more haggard appearance than he would've liked.

One of King's hands reached up and began taking his own heavy jacket off, shrugging it off his shoulders and then shoving it out towards him. Quentin stared at it, puzzled and unsure what he was supposed to do.

“Take it.” David shook his outstretched arm a little impatiently, “At least till you get yours patched up.”

When Quentin continued to stare dumbly at him, he huffed and dropped it into his lap. The button up he wore underneath wasn’t a long sleeve as it turned out, and the way the white fabric stretched over his impressive biceps made Quentin swallow hard. He examined the jacket just to tear his eyes away, poking at the fabric without any real purpose. 

“What makes you think I want anything of yours?” The question came out harshly, but Quentin didn't backpedal. It hadn't been nearly enough time since David had tackled him to the floor and they'd both thrown punches, so the gesture was unexpected and confusing. 

“ _What_ , my shit ain't good en--” David cut himself off with an aggravated sigh, “You got. Y’ got cuts all over you. Figured you wouldn't want Claude to, I dunno, mother hen you.’

The Entity normally healed most wounds when survivors escaped, any trace of their bodies going through trauma usually patched up within minutes. Quentin looked down at his chest and stomach, and realized that his pale skin was indeed mottled with bruises and cuts grouped in threes or fours. Of course. It wasn't enough that Freddy had been able to keep him in the trial and drag him to the basement, but the scars inflicted by him also had to stay. 

“It's--it's not fucking _fair._ ” He hissed out from behind grit teeth, a surge of panic welling up from the pit of his stomach and threatening to come spilling out once more. “He takes away my friends, ruins my life, he won't _die_ , and--and now he gets to fucking _brand_ me?!”

He was shouting but couldn't find it in him to stop, “I deserve to live my own life! But it's like--like he _owns_ it!”

“Quent--” David tried to interject but Quentin shoved at his closest shoulder and rocked him off balance from his crouch. 

“This isn't _living!_ ” He yelled and shoved at David again, “This isn't fucking living! We're all just dying in slow motion and one day everything's gonna catch up and that'll be it! No more campfire, no more survivors, _nothing!_ ”

His voice broke at last, leaving him to pant heavily in the silence that followed. David hadn't moved from his position sat on the ground, not even when Quentin had pushed him several more times. Somehow that made things worse, to have the one guy who sparked some sort of change in his cyclical life let him just shove and yell at him. 

It was all too much. Quentin snapped his teeth together in a silent snarl, hunched over his knees and digging his hands into the ground. The dirt was cold and unrealistically gritty, like sand, as he dug up mounds between his curling fingers, but Quentin didn't care. He needed to ground himself and get a hold on his emotions before he went back to the camp. 

A hand shoved one of his shoulders, startling him enough to nearly fall over and onto his side. He looked up, temper still smoldering, and found David gathering himself with a hard look on his face.

“Well, c'mon then.” The bigger man was getting to his feet.

“ _What?_ ” Quentin practically spat out, arms trembling.

“You look like y'need to hit somethin’. May as well not break your hand in the process.” 

For a second Quentin thought he must be joking, but then David slid into a loose boxing stance and-- _yes._ He needed this. He needed something to swing at him so that he could swing back and prove to himself or God or _whatever the fuck_ felt like watching that he wasn't just some defenseless victim. That underneath all the trauma and sleep deprivation he was still Quentin Smith, a living, breathing person.

He staggered to his feet, the jacket slipping down the ground to crumple forgotten in the dirt. Neither of them paid it any mind as they circled around each other. 

When he was little, Elementary school age, sometimes the bigger boys would pick on him for being so forgetful and quiet. A boy who went through something awful and couldn't even remember _why_ he felt so on edge around any older male was the perfect target for those that hit their stride sooner. Quentin's dad had often criticized him when he'd had to pick him up early from school, frustrated by his boy never fighting back and defending himself. 

It was ironic, really, that his dad couldn't see him now.

David surged forwards abruptly to jab at him, his fist striking Quentin in the cheek. Air whooshed out of his lungs but Quentin didn't hesitate to swing back, catching his own limb against David's gut. It must have struck the area of a sensitive organ, because David doubled over slightly with a grunt, long enough for Quentin to swing again. This time, however, King juked the attack and used Quentin's momentum against him.

His right hook smashed into his ribs mercilessly, rocking him back onto his heels as he choked down a cry. If it weren't for the killers being supernaturally stronger, David would have probably been a fearsome opponent. 

Quentin abandoned all pretenses and lunged forwards with a yell, catching King off guard enough to tackle him to the ground. It was nearly an exact mirror image of what had happened previously, complete with Quentin swinging at the bigger man's chest, his arms, his face. 

His blows were blocked half heartedly by King, only taking precautions about Quentin’s bony knuckles potentially striking him in the nose or eyes. It didn’t take long for the surge of energy to wear itself down until his hands finally laid still on David’s chest, bracing himself as he hunched over. The other man quietly watched him, his own arms hovering at first uncertainly in the air before laying down beside him as best they could.

“How much did you see?” Quentin choked out, eyes firmly glued to his bruised knuckles and clenched fingers. 

“Enough.” David murmured.

“ _How much?_ ” He demanded, still unable quite yet to meet the other man’s eyes.

King exhaled lowly and then placed a hand on one of Quentin’s arms, grasping it lightly but comfortingly, “Enough to know that he’s a bad man.”

Quentin nodded to himself, leaning into the hold without even really realizing it. His resolve wavered but then held together enough for him to look at the other. He expected more confusion and frustration, what he received was a sort of calm. Perhaps the scuffle had helped David wear out some of his own pent up aggression or perhaps he was putting on a facade to try and help, but either way Quentin found that his inner turmoil was easing. 

Maybe David wasn’t as mean as he’d thought.

“Thanks.” He mumbled, “For...for not leaving me.” 

King’s eyebrows scrunched up as though the very idea of leaving someone behind was something that had never occurred to him before. It was oddly puppy-like and made Quentin huff in genuine amusement for the first time. David’s face broke into a pleased half smile which made Quentin’s stomach flutter in an unexpected way.

All too abruptly he realized how warm David was underneath him and how comfortable it was to sit on him, King’s hand still holding his arm and grounding him in place. Sometimes Quentin really hated how pale he was because he could feel his traitorous face heating up and knew that the flush would be horridly noticeable even in the dark of the woods.

David probably would have seen it better too if it had not been for the sound of leaves crunching and twigs snapping underneath shoes. Both of their heads snapped up, peering over at the noise in time to witness Jake and Ace emerging from the depths of the forest. For a second no one moved, each person caught off guard by inadvertently running into each other. 

It was Ace who commented first, a sly smirk on his face as he whistled and then commented, “Guessin’ you two found a healthier way to blow off steam?”

Quentin’s face erupted into a cherry red and he spluttered, jerking away from David’s face as the other man nearly threw him off. 

“It’s not like that!” Quentin protested, scrambling to his feet.

King apparently remembered how his clothes looked before he did, because the man unexpectedly stepped in front of him, shielding the condition of the torn cloth and Quentin’s injured torso from the other’s prying eyes. It was a gesture that he hadn’t expected and made his traitorous heart surge again with some sort of positivity. 

“Just cause’ you two like to go into the woods t’ fuck don’t mean everyone else is doin’ it.” David hotly commented, though his remark merely made Ace waggle his eyebrows and grin with cat-like pleasure at him.

“Is that jealousy I detect?” The gambler teased.

Jake’s face hadn’t changed from the neutrality that it often displayed, though his hand reached out and clapped down on Ace’s shoulder. Quentin couldn’t help but be reminded of a person ensuring a child behaved given that Ace immediately straightened and looked minutely apologetic.

“We thought everyone died.” Park stated with enough authority to keep everyone’s attention on him, “Are you two alright?”

Ace really had been a good influence on Jake, Quentin faintly thought to himself. If it had been any time before the duo’s relationship, he doubted Jake would have even inquired on their wellbeing. So it was with this thought in mind that he placed his own hand on David’s arm to try and prevent him from snapping back at the taller man and risk making the conversation unpleasant. King, surprisingly, clenched his jaw shut and didn’t say a word in retaliation.

“It was a bad trial. David offered to let me use him as a punching bag.” His tone came out so frank and dry that even Ace didn’t quirk an eyebrow, “I guess that’s bonding since we’re technically agreeing to fight?” 

Jake didn't immediately respond, his dark eyes flicking between the two of them. Whatever he thought was left unsaid since he shrugged a shoulder and released Ace.

“I don't see the appeal of getting hurt even more, but if it helps, then good.” Park commented and turned to take his leave.

“Thanks, glad t’ know we got your permission!” David sarcastically called after him.

“Don't do anything I wouldn't!” Ace cheerfully shot back, giving King a delighted grin when it roused a frustrated growl from him.

But with that the two headed back into the forest to walk or do whatever it was they did on their own. Honestly, Quentin didn't want to think about it. His hold on David's arm was ripped loose as the Brit turned to glower sourly down at him, though without the usual amount of fire behind it.

“Don't treat me like an idiot.” David snapped, pointedly gesturing towards the arm Quentin had been grasping, “I can handle myself when it comes to Park.”

Exasperated, Quentin leaned down to pick up David's jacket and held it out to him. His offer wasn’t taken and instead was met with David crossing his arms and continuing to scowl.

“ _Seriously?_ You want to pick it up instead or something?” Quentin asked, frustrated.

“No. I told you t’ keep it until you fix up your clothes. Just tell everyone else that you won it from a bet or somethin’.” 

Well. Quentin hadn't expected him to be serious about that. 

The sentiment had him lowering his arm, unsure of how to proceed after the exhausting rollercoaster of emotions that he'd been put through in a short amount of time. He nodded, which was apparently all the confirmation David needed to make like he was going to leave. When Quentin didn't immediately follow he glanced back.

“You comin’ or what?”

Quentin's lips twitched into a barely there amused smile. He gathered the jacket into his arms and started after the bigger man.

“Bossy.” He quipped and received an eye roll in return.

 

 

****

The endless nights continued without a hitch. 

No one questioned the excuse Quentin gave, though whether it was because they believed him or assumed something else had occurred between them was unclear. Either way, it didn’t matter. He had tried to patch his own clothes up as best as he could with an embarrassing amount of struggle, often times wondering how it was that he found it easier to sew someone shut in comparison to something as simple as cloth. 

It was around the third time he was revisiting his outfit, his clothes having been worse for wear already going into the trial and barely clinging to life after, that Feng Min shoved her way into his space and decided to be aggressively helpful. It was the only way the woman really knew how to express her desire to help and Quentin was grateful for it, though made a point of not showing it in order to not make her feel awkward. Where he went out of his way to help out where he could, Feng was obviously inexperienced in the art of lending a hand. 

They sat next to the campfire in relative peace given that most of the others were in a trial or wandering the woods. It was comfortable enough for Quentin to feel safe without his tops on and only David’s jacket for general cover. He had tried to give it back to the other man twice only for it to be shoved back his way when his clothes inevitably weren’t fixed. At this point King actually appeared to have grown used to not having it on and had opted to begin wearing tank tops more. 

Quentin could have chosen something else to wear, given that there was a basic clothing pile that was stacked to the side of the camp when the Entity bothered to allow them more than the essentials, but he found himself not wanting to part with the jacket quite yet. Besides, one could never tell if the clothes they picked out would actually fit properly—the best example possibly being when their shorter companions would try out a new shirt only for it to dwarf them, or the taller ones tried on something that would barely cover their stomachs or ankles. 

Some survivors had claimed certain articles of clothing if they seemed to fit correctly, though most left everything in the makeshift community bin. It never felt right to take too many things to hoard for oneself, especially when there was no way to guarantee when they would get anything new. 

“Honestly, I think you just made the damage worse.” Feng Min sighed in disappointment as she examined the patchwork job that Quentin had done on a particular sizable hole in his shirt. “Maybe you should just pick a new shirt out while I work my magic on this?”

“That bad, huh?” Quentin groaned and flopped dramatically onto Feng’s shoulder, leaning his full weight into her body. 

She scoffed and shoved at him, half heartedly trying to move him off of her. When the first two attempts didn’t make him sit back up, she resigned herself to her fate and flopped into him equally as heavily, their backs slumped on the log behind them. Feng Min examined his clothing further, sticking one of her fingers through a hole and wiggling it like a worm on the end of a hook. 

“It’s not a bad thing to do the equivalent of clothes shopping, y’know.” She dryly remarked, “It’s not like we have any other options around here and pretty much everyone had taken at least one more thing for themselves.”

Well, she wasn’t wrong. Quentin eyed the neatly stacked pile placed evenly on the other side of the camp. If it ever got too messy Claudette made a point of refolding the clothes with a disappointed air, guilt tripping anyone around into helping. 

“Maybe.” He mumbled, critically eyeing the variation in colors.

“So…” Feng Min drew the word out and nudged at him with an elbow, “we gonna talk about this?”

“Talk about what?” Quentin glanced over at her, resigned to whatever inquires she had on her mind. 

“Oh, I dunno.” She scoffed, “Maybe the fact that you’ve had David’s jacket for like, three trials? Even though you two are usually doing a better job of killing each other than the killers?”

Quentin was aware of the tell tale signs of his ears flushing at the bluntness of her question and averted his eyes to stare at the clothes once more. He wasn’t quite sure how he wanted to answer that as the truthful response was something far too complicated and loaded to hash out to his friend. Also, he wasn’t confident enough yet to reveal the complications of Freddy to anyone outside of those who had accidentally found out, even when it came to Feng Min. 

He felt a pang of guilt at knowing he was going out of his way to hide the information from the only other person who arguably knew most everything else about him, but that was one aspect of himself that felt wrong to place out in the open. Feng Min probably wouldn’t judge him at all, but there was a chance her demeanor could shift to something along the lines of pitying and that she would regard him as more of a victim than a survivor. He didn’t want that. He wouldn’t be able to handle it.

“Well?” Feng Min elbowed him again, though much more gently.

“We got into a fight.” Quentin decided on a half truth, “He lost.”

“So you...won his jacket?” Her tone sounded incredulous enough for him to know that she didn’t believe him in the slightest, but he merely nodded back.

They sat there, quietly, for an unknown amount of time after that. Quentin watched the flames of the eternal fire from under half lidded eyes, his brain slowly deciding that sleep was an option that they could explore if it was given a chance. He drowsily glanced up at Feng Min when he shifted lower to try and rest his head fully on her shoulder, knowing that she wouldn’t mind being a pillow for a short amount of time. 

He was almost asleep when Feng Min spoke up again, quietly and with far more delicacy than he had come to associate with her, “You know I got your back, right? No matter what you decide to do?”

The admission brought a sleepy smile to his face, “Course’.”

She nodded more to herself than him and then spoke once more, “If you’ve decided he’s not that bad, then maybe I can lay off of him a little.”

Quentin hadn’t expected that. He took a second to crane his neck and peer up at the other survivor, but she was steadfastly ignoring his gaze and so he flopped back into place. 

“Yeah.” He murmured, “He’s alright.”

Feng didn’t respond with words, her fingers carding through the damage done to his shirt and jacket, re-examining things that she already knew in place of speaking again. Neither of them minded, everything that had needed to be said was spoken, and for now they were content to relax for a few moments before another trial began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk why this fic has to be so much harder to write compared to the previous one, but heeyyyyy here’s the latest chapter folks. 
> 
> The pacing eternally feels too fast for me, but I’m not ready to write a 30 chapter novel in order to make a genuine slow burn. :’^( I don’t have the necessary amount of patience for that!!
> 
> Anyways, hopefully ya’ll like this chapter. I’ve worked my way up to the purple ranks on Quentin after the ranking system change and tbh...I’m pretty damn glad I can’t reach red ranks anymore. Not dealing with super sweaty killers is kind of nice. ALSO HELL YEA ASH BABY...LOVE THAT MAN....


	5. Chapter 5

It was the first day of sixth grade and Quentin was hopelessly lost. 

The new school that he was attending was a massive and overcrowded building that had no signs to help with guiding students in the correct direction. He and his dad had received a package before the year had began with papers instructing which supplies to buy and a printed layout of the grounds, lines faded in a splotchy manner that suggested the printer had been running out of ink, but even trying to follow the map had gotten him nowhere. The bell signaling that first period was beginning had rang a few minutes ago already, and Quentin realized with growing dread that he was going to be late to his first class in middleschool.

Everyone was going to make fun of him once he finally turned up and the teacher inevitably forced him to introduce himself at the front. Was it even worth it to try and locate the room, or should he just give up and find his second period and then hide in the bathroom? The fear of becoming a social pariah so soon made the decision for him and so he hurriedly scurried around the empty hallways to gauge where his science class was going to be held.

He wasn't used to a school being so big, his elementary years had been spent in a single story and small building with attentive teachers to help any stragglers. This place was a two story giant that seemed to house all the children from every elementary school in the general county. 

Even more intimidating were the eighth graders Quentin had seen chatting amongst each other in the hallways before first period had begun, some of them already tall enough to look like they were in high school which was an impressive feat in his eyes. He hadn't really hit a growth spurt yet and tried not to feel insecure about how tiny he felt next to even girls his age. It was awkward enough that his voice had been cracking noticeably and frequently for the last few months, that acne had started to pepper his face, and that his dad had been forced to order his son to begin layering on cologne due to his teenage hormones flaring up his body odor. 

Being a teenager, Quentin had decided, was a _nightmare_ and there was a part of him that wished he could have been able to stay a kid forever.

It was taking too long to find his second period and now he was growing paranoid of the principal herself finding him and thinking he was skipping his first class on purpose. She would label him a bad egg and then his dad would find out and he'd _never_ recover from the embarrassment. His dad would probably yell at him in front of his classmates or, god forbid, some _girls._ Quentin shuddered to himself and shouldered his way into the nearest restroom, locking himself into a stall furthest from the door. 

He refused to peek at his reflection in the mirror, knowing that he'd look just as awkward and ugly as he remembered. Maybe he lucked out a little in the hair department at least, because he had seen older boys proudly flaunting greasy half-staches, gross looking spare hairs that were nothing like the beards the boys wanted them to be. His own face thus far was squeaky clean and Quentin hoped it stayed that way. He didn't think he'd look good with any facial hair. 

The toilet seat that he carefully perched on creaked under his weight and looked suspiciously unclean, but otherwise served as a good enough seat for him to pass the time. He didn't have a cellphone, his dad had made it clear that there was no reason for a child to have technology like that yet, and so he slipped the large calculator they purchased out from his worn and fraying backpack with a sigh. There wasn't much he could do on it, but the concept of a calculator being able to use letters was still new and interesting to him. 

He messed around on the alien-like piece of technology for a few minutes, pressing various unknown buttons and confusing himself at their functions, but with only his school supplies to entertain himself he quickly found himself growing bored. When he grew bored, his mind always wandered and he found himself zoning out into a daydream. The inability to concentrate was something he wouldn't bring up with his dad until halfway through sixth grade, when his report cards were dismal and they both didn't know who else to turn to except a doctor for the struggles his brain suffered from. For now, he was lulling himself into a half sleep state, still groggy and tired from having to wake up early again for the first time after summer break. 

His cheek soon pressed against the cool metal of the stall's wall, body slumping a little as he attempted to get more comfortable. It probably wasn't sanitary to hang out in the bathroom for this long, but Quentin didn't care. Maybe he could get a power nap in before the bell rang again and signaled first period ending.

The minutes that ticked past found Quentin on the brink of slipping into slumber, but just as he started to do so reality wavered around him. At first it was just an uncomfortable feeling, like something was wrong but he couldn't quite place it. His eyes snapped open so that he could warily peer around the small and enclosed space, taking in the old tiled floor and the door that had printouts of upcoming school functions.

The surge of instinctively knowing something was wrong panged deep in his gut again, causing the hair on his arms to stand up. He rubbed them as though he meant to warm himself up, even though the summer heat was due to hang around for a month or two longer. Maybe he should leave the bathroom, he decided, and hesitantly stood, his knees a little stiff from sitting so awkwardly for so long. 

It was when he reached down to pick up his backpack that things veered from bad to worse. His backpack jerked away from his hand like something was yanking it just out of reach, tugging it under the bottom of the stall door. Quentin's heart leapt to his throat because if it was being pulled, it must mean someone was on the other side. Was it an older student, here to torment him already? 

After a few seconds of standing in place, hand wavering in the air, he swallowed thickly and unlocked the door. It swung open painfully slow and he didn't have it in him to make the process happen any faster, peering into the widening gap while he nervously chewed at his lip. 

There was no one to be seen on the other side. 

Quentin huffed out a sigh of relief and dry amusement at himself for being so on edge over his backpack probably just unbalancing and falling over. He reached down again, his anxiety temporarily smothered with the knowledge that he was alone, and decided that he should bite the bullet and go to the office to get some help. Surely it wouldn't be too bad.

The backpack evaded his grasp again.

A sense of incredulity overtook his fight or flight response--there was no way something had fallen over this time. Was the school haunted? Was this a _ghost_ situation? 

He took a step forward and reached again, and again the backpack scooted backwards, the process repeating enough times for Quentin to feel ridiculous. Did someone mess with his backpack? That was the only logical explanation, right? Maybe magnets or something?

He faked a grab and then lunged for the handle of his backpack, triumph robbed of him when it simply didn't move at all. He was just a thirteen year old boy standing by himself in a school bathroom after he had probably hallucinated his backpack being able to run away from him. Quentin raised his backpack, turning it this way and that as he tried to find some explanation for what had just occurred but finding none. 

Frustrated and feeling the remnants of his earlier stress well up inside of him once more, he dropped his things and angrily turned his gaze to the sinks. His face was flushing already, a tell tale sign of his emotions fluctuating wildly and the childlike urge to cry was making his eyes sting. _Other boys probably didn't have this problem,_ he angrily thought to himself as he turned on a faucet. If someone saw him crying he'd get made fun of and called a wuss or a girl and then it'd be just like elementary school all over again. 

Quentin sniffed, rubbing the back of his arm over his nose to wipe away any snot that threatened to leak, and splashed cold water onto his face with determination to clear up his pale complexion. He was not going to freak out, he was thirteen now--which he thought was practically an _adult_ \-- and teenagers didn't cry or panic when things felt a little off. 

With renewed control over himself, he finished his task and looked up to examine his reflection in the mirror, hoping that the redness had faded enough to take his leave. A grotesque, burned man stared back at him, mouth widely split into a sharp, jagged grin that didn't reach his beady eyes. 

Shock rocked through his core so fast that Quentin was temporarily robbed of speech, a wheezy gasp exiting his lips. His mouth flapped open and close like a fish, brain screaming at him that something was wrong, the man was bad, he needed to _get away!_

An arm reached out of the mirror as he stood frozen in place, air passing through his lungs raspy and uneven, the finger knives adorning the other’s gloved hand brushing ever so lightly against his cheek. Quentin tracked their progress out of the corner of his eye, still unable to move even with the sensation of razor sharp weapons so close to his face. 

“Wake up.” The man casually stated as he continued to run his blades along the planes of his face.

What? Quentin didn't say this out loud but somehow the other man heard.

“Wake up!” Mr. Krueger insisted louder, his reach sliding along Quentin's tangle of messy hair. 

But he wasn't sleeping, Quentin never slept anymore. Not since he and Nancy had--they had--

“ _Wake up!_ ” Freddy roared, face contorting into that of rage, twisting his frightening features into a demon-like visage of hate. A blade cut into the side of his face, drawing blood as Quentin gasped and then suddenly his eyes snapped open.

Where was he? This wasn't school, he didn't know this place! Why was it dark? Did he pass out and sleep in the bathroom for that long?

There was a hand on his shoulder, attempting to hold down his limbs that he dimly registered were flailing in panic. The notion that someone was trying to restrain him caused him to panic further and he increased his struggling, unable to find his footing so that he could get up.

“Quentin!” A strained and hushed whisper reached his senses, “ _Fuckin’ hell,_ calm down! It's just me!” 

Quentin ceased all movement abruptly, the other person's voice familiar and strangely comforting. He finally looked up, positive he was about to see Freddy's face staring back, but only found David anxiously peering down at him. David. The camp. The trials. 

His body sagged hopelessly in relief as his brain caught up on reality, sinking back into his position leaned against one of the logs. A quick glance to the side revealed Feng Min still snoozing which meant he had actually fallen asleep for the first time since he'd been thrust into this realm. Given that no one actually had to do every day rituals like sleeping anymore, he hadn't thought that he would ever actually do it. But if he had been sleeping, then he had been dreaming, and if he had been dreaming, then…

He slapped a hand up to his face, trying to feel for the cut that would be adorning his cheek, but his fingers met only smooth, if a bit grimy, skin. Then--Freddy couldn't reach him outside of trials? And what he'd had was a genuine nightmare? The concept was so bizarre and foreign to him that he wondered if he was somehow still stuck in his head and this was Freddy's way of fucking with him.

David's fingers gripped a little harder, grounding him in place. He wasn't backing away from the variety of emotions that flitted across Quentin's face which was a surprise, but he didn't press further.

“Bad dream?” King asked and caused Quentin to snort at how right the other man was.

“Surprisingly,” Quentin huffed quietly and sat up straighter, “yes.”

The other man's large brows drew together in confusion and his mouth opened to question further, but before he could the sounds of a person walking out of the woods drew their attention. More than one person, in fact. They looked over in sync to witness the pair of strangers who nervously stumbled into the campsite, identical looks of confusion and fear plastered on their faces.

Well, this was new.

 

****

 

The Entity had never flung more than one person into its realm at once outside of the original four, and so the unusual circumstances had everyone wondering what that meant for them. Was there going to be a constant influx of new people? Claudette was nervous about that because, as she reasoned, more survivors meant more killers and possibly more infighting. The other question that hung heavily in their minds was one that Dwight proposed, which was that perhaps the Entity was preparing to get rid of some of them because it was growing bored.

No one had any clue how many survivors there could be at one time and, with no previous situations to draw conclusions from, it left the fear that their group was growing too large. 

Quentin found himself more intimidated by the second option because he wondered if he were to be wiped from existence, Freddy would then be set free. There was no rulebook to guide them and so in the trials that followed the arrival of one Kate Denson and Adam Francis, tensions were higher than normal. 

It was unlucky for their newest duo mainly because the negative atmosphere meant the entire group was more wary than they would’ve been had either one of them appeared with time in between. Everyone had a certain level of paranoia that these were their possible replacements and with that came a guilt ridden amount of resentment. Kate and Adam had taken to sitting with each other away from the rest of them, both painfully obvious in how unsure they were to proceed, woefully unprepared for trials even though they'd each gone through at least two.

The other survivors didn't leave them to die on hooks or ignored them completely, but no one really went out of their way to help more than necessary either. 

Perhaps it was just due to the fact that the duo hadn't been in the company of the entire group the short time they had been there--they’d met survivors in clumps between trials--but when suddenly everyone was gathered around the campfire without someone being tugged off to go through the gauntlet, the result was a quiet and uncomfortable atmosphere. It seemed no one wanted to express their worries, but likewise no one wanted to breach the gap in how awkward things had gotten between them and the new people.

The four who had been stuck in this realm the longest had the most severe tension about them, more than likely assuming that if the Entity was preparing to rid itself of some survivors, it would the oldest veterans. Quentin didn't blame them, the thought of simply not coming back from a trial haunted his mind all the time, but after his freak out with David in the woods he found himself disliking the others thinking so grimly. 

Maybe that's why he suddenly stood up, drawing the attention of everyone around him, and made his way from sitting quietly next to Feng Min to plopping down in front of Kate and Adam. They were near enough to the campfire to still be illuminated quite well, but far enough to make Quentin feel like he was in high school and sitting with the unpopular kids. Which, well, he could relate to. He had never been a loser in school, but he definitely hadn't been the star quarterback by any means.

“Hi.” Quentin hesitantly greeted them and drew his knees up, hugging them to his chest, “I, um, heard you humming to yourself earlier and you sound like you have a nice voice? Do you, uh, sing?”

A wince followed the question, directed at himself for how awkwardly it was said. Kate however, lit up instantly in a way that had Adam smiling warmly as well. Her hand, which had been previously fiddling with the sleeve of Adam's coat, let go to allow her arms to flap around while she talked, an animated and enthusiastic thing. 

“I didn't know ya'll were listenin’, but the short is answer is yes!” She grinned down at him and then faltered, as though remembering their current predicament of being ostracized, “I wouldn't want t’ intrude on anythin’ though.”

Adam, a much more soft spoken man with kind eyes, gently placed a hand on one of her arms, “I'm sure you wouldn't be interrupting anything. Right…?”

He turned those eyes to Quentin, a hint of nervousness betraying his fear of being rejected once more by the survivors. It only took a second for Quentin to realize how stupid they'd all been acting, irrational and misplaced. He shot his own sleepy grin back and nodded.

“I don't think anyone around here actually has the vocal cords to sound good singing, so it'd be a nice change of pace.”

Kate risked a glance behind him to the rest of the group who were all still watching with varying levels of interest, but Quentin's proverbial olive branch emboldened her enough to nod to herself and adjust her spine, sitting straight. The song that she sang into the air wasn't one that Quentin had heard before. It was something folksy, though simple and catchy in a way that had him tapping his foot along. 

He wasn't sure how the song ended simply because Kate transitioned into the next seamlessly, in a way that painted her as someone who had experience doing this in front of a crowd. Nothing was ever too long nor was it ever sorrowful, instead the lyrics were far more appreciative of the woman's life and the earth they had lived on. Her words wove vivid imagery, sensations of memories and happier times; an echo that rang clear over the encampment and fizzled out much of the mounting fear. 

Quentin remembered his mom's Sunday breakfasts, a fainter memory than most since she had left his life at a young age. She had never been very good at making food for lunch and dinner, but her morning spreads were delicious and had always encompassed a variety of foods. He remembered the first time he had truly won a swimming competition and the surprised but proud smile his father wore when he looked out into the crowd and spotted him-- it was odd, he hadn't realized how poorly his image of his father had disfigured in his mind until now. Hell, he even remembered the weekends sitting at his local diner and spending hard earned cash on lunch just to get those small, sweet smiles out of Nancy while she worked. 

There was no residual anger and sadness that followed the memories, just fondness for the good times that he had gotten to experience. 

Kate took a break after a longer amount of time than Quentin expected, a little out of breath, but her face flushed with a pleased, crooked grin on her face. Hands suddenly clapped beside him, making him flinch just a little. Feng Min had apparently moved to sit beside him, cross legged on the dirt, and had the most delighted look in her eyes that Quentin had ever seen.

A few of the others clapped as well, scattered around the campsite and with varying levels of enthusiasm, and it had Kate bashfully scuffing one of her boots on the ground. She pushed hair out of her face, opening up in a way that no one had seen yet.

“Thanks, ya'll.” Kate chuckled, “It wasn't anything fancy, but I'm glad y’like it.”

“Where did you learn to sing like that?” Feng blurted, leaning towards the other woman.

“Well...I guess I've always liked singin’. I did some choir back when I was a girl and just kept going.” 

Feng Min abandoned her spot to sit down next to Kate, their conversation continuing on while Quentin chanced looking around behind him. The postures of all the survivors had eased visibly, even when it came to those like Ace, which was encouraging and a step in the right direction. He looked back to Adam, who hadn't shifted from his seat beside the two women but was beginning to look vaguely out of place. Quentin could relate and so he threw the man a bone.

“Hey, uh, you said you were from a University, right?” He asked, hoping he remembered correct.

“Yes!” Adam looked pleased, “Teaching at one.”

“You should try talking to Claudette. From what she's told everyone, she was a student at a college before all this and she's...well, she's enthusiastic about knowledge.” Quentin pointed towards the petite survivor, receiving a nervous smile from the woman in return.

Adam looked between them, definitely socially anxious enough to stall for a few seconds, but then nodded and made his way over to the other survivor, gently sitting down on the log next to she and Meg. Quentin expected they'd both be somewhat awkward at first, but given that Claudette hadn't really had anyone else to talk to who was as intellectually gifted as her in awhile, he had a good feeling about them.

His knees popped as he stood up, brushing dirt off the seat of his pants. Things were settling into a proper rhythm once more in the campsite, which was more of a relief than Quentin would've thought. He had grown used to the way of living in this space that they all called home, used to every presence that shared the area. It felt nice to have new additions, a breath of fresh air in the stagnant night sky. 

When he gauged a good place to sit, somewhere more comfortable than the cold dirt floor, he did so with shoulders relaxed and a feeling of safety. He was only slightly surprised when the log he’d decided on jiggled from the force of a heavier person sitting beside him, joining him in his people watching. David gazed at the large group they had accumulated over an unknown amount of time with a strange amount of pride in his eyes.

Quentin must have peered at him for longer than he’d initially thought, lost in his observations about the other man, because King interrupted his staring with a pointed question. 

“Got somethin' on my face?”

“What?” Quentin blinked rapidly, brain focusing back to the present, “Oh, uh, no. You're just...calmer than I expected, I guess?”

“I'm not always angry or gearin’ up for a fight, y’know.” David cut his eyes to him only to meet Quentin's deadpan and unimpressed expression. “Okay, fine, I'm only doin’ that about _seventy percent_ of the time.”

This earned a wry smile from Quentin, “That's still over the halfway mark, man.”

“Can't help it. You lot drive me mad over half the time.” 

Quentin snorted and playfully elbowed him before he realized what he was doing, freezing after completing the action. Would David take it as a challenge? He really didn't want to start a fight after everyone had finally started to act normal again. Despite his worries, King only gently elbowed him back, like they were old friends reconnecting at a bar.

It was...nice.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably and looked between David and the rest of the group, unsure who to settle on, “You seem, I dunno, happy? It's-- you should do this more.”

“Be happy?” David questioned, though his eyes sparkled with a hint of amusement over witnessing Quentin stumble so harshly with his words. Quentin could feel his cheeks flush dully and made an effort to try and hide it by hunching over his knees and bracing his head on his hands. 

“Whatever.” He mumbled, a tad bit more defensively than he would've liked. He wasn't sure what his relationship was with David now, only that it was less antagonistic than before and hardly likely to go back to the way things were. Unknown grounds, the worst situation to be in.

Before he could ruminate for too long, David gently bumped his shoulder into his, gaining his attention back. He had a small, impish grin on his face that caused Quentin to frown in return almost automatically.

“What?” He snapped. 

“Never seen you so social before.” King conspiratorially whispered, “Y'think the new gal is hot or somethin’?”

Any color that had drained from his face came back in full force, turning him a shade of pink that was stark against his pale skin. He spluttered for a moment, at a loss for words, but then shook his head resolutely and elbowed King again.

“What the fuck-- _no!_ ” His protest was met with a knowing look from David that made him want to shake him by the shoulders.

“The other one then, Adam?” 

“ _No!_ ” His whisper shout was practically a squeak from how high his tone raised and his face reddened further when David broke into a helpless fit of laughter. Quentin smacked his arm and then did it again just for good measure, trying to stop the other survivor's chuckles through sheer willpower, “Stop laughing, I'm serious!”

“I believe you, I believe you!” David wheezed fending off his hits half heartedly, “Y'just shoulda seen your face--didn't think you could turn that red!”

His cheeks were burning now and he didn't need to guess how he looked, so he settled on crossing his arms and pointedly ignoring the other man. Some would call it sulking, but Quentin defined it as the silent treatment. Once David stopped chortling over his predicament, half-assed attempts at apologies repeatedly being cut off by his laughing, he gave him a firm pat on the back and jostled him enough to force Quentin to uncross his arms and shove his limb away.

“Aw, don't get pissy, Quen. I was just teasin’ you.” David backed off, grin still in place.

Quentin huffed but stopped posturing, relaxing back into a more comfortable position and resuming his previous task of people watching. When he turned back he came face to face with Nea, a sly smirk on her face as she sat down on his other side. The fact that the other survivor had left the company of Laurie to come and sit with them was foreboding, like an ancient sign of bad things to come.

“You two seem chummier.” Nea bluntly stated, her eyes eagerly flitting between them. 

Quentin was right, it _had_ been a warning that he was going to hate what came out of her mouth.

“Okay?” He answered stiffly, unsure how he felt about someone's outside observations, especially someone who didn't know virtually anything about his circumstances. “You need something?”

“No, just checking in on our two rowdy boys to see if they're seconds away from murdering each other. But hey, looks like some things have changed.” 

The good vibes he had gathered were dissipating rapidly under her scrutiny and Quentin found himself desperately wishing that Laurie would look over and rescue him from his plight, as though she could somehow sense that her girlfriend was being a brat. 

She didn't, of course, because she was playing cards with Ace while Jake sat close enough to watch but far enough to pretend like he wasn't trying to be near his...boyfriend? Or whatever they were. No, Quentin was stuck with Nea inching closer into his personal bubble and circling like a shark who sensed blood in the water. He didn't know what to say, anything he mentioned would probably be taken out of context quickly and expanding on the reality would open a can of worms that Quentin definitely wasn't about to drop.

“Back off, Nea.” David piped up, leaning around him and giving the woman a firm look, “Give him some breathin’ room.”

Nea looked between them one last time, gaze speculative, and then scooted away to a more appropriate distance, her hands raising in mock defense. Quentin's heart was beating rapidly, though whether it was from the unusual questioning or the way he had been able to feel the heat coming off of David when he'd had to move closer in order to look Nea in the eyes was debatable. He settled on turning towards David, surprised to find him still quite close, nearly smacking his head into the other’s.

“You getting into the habit of defending my honor or something?” Quentin dryly asked and now it was David’s turn to lean away and sheepishly avert his eyes, scowling more than likely to save face.

“Believe me, I don’t think you need savin’.” He grumbled, “Your fists have left enough bruises.”

Quentin could feel himself begin to grin at the admittance and the oddly endearing way that King stated it, but before he could say anything further Nea piped up again.

“You two are _adorable._ ” She snickered and then quickly moved out of the way when David lurched over Quentin’s lap to swat at her, flipping him off and fleeing back to Laurie’s side. 

The sudden extra weight pressing down on his thighs and David’s meaty shoulder ramming into his stomach sent Quentin careening backwards, though he caught himself with an arm before his back could smack into the ground, legs flailing trapped as they were under the other. Quentin used his other arm to slap at King’s back, trying to free himself.

“ _Jesus Christ_ —what are you, 900 pounds?!” He wheezed, the arm bracing himself shaking.

David straightened but didn’t look particularly apologetic if the smirk on his face was anything to go by. Before Quentin could begin to ease himself back into a sitting position, the other man reached down to grasp the front collar of his shirt, yanking him upright.

“You’re not getting a thank you.” Quentin sourly complained.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” David shot back and only laughed again when Quentin socked his arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey party people it’s been like 90 years since we last met, but eyyyy new chapter is finally done. For some reason this one reeeaallly didn’t wanna be written so I’m glad it’s out there in the world now.
> 
> Ya’ll seen the rumors on the DBD reddit that the next killer could possibly be Ghostface? I would literally sell an arm to have Billy and Stu running around murdering people, that’d be so rad...
> 
> Hope everyone’s doing well! Happy late Easter!


End file.
